


No Church in the Wild

by monoxidegirl



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Death Note, Alternate Universe - Prison, Awkward Boners, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, minor blood/gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 50,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoxidegirl/pseuds/monoxidegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fear is another vital aspect of it, fear of the government, fear of the police and rebuttal and punishment. It's what has kept Light Yagami in power for the past five years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is an idea I've been batting around for ages and ages but never actually sat down and wrote. But since it's never really left me alone, I've decided to go ahead and put this thing out to the world. /hides.  
> I've got a ton of this done, and I'm still working, so I'll be sticking pretty close to my posting schedule of once a week on Mondays (probably very early Monday morning, but we'll see??)
> 
>  
> 
> As always, shout out to my dear friend Margaret (greenmage128) for beta'ing this and being a generally lovely human being and encouraging me to pursue this instead of just letting it die somewhere in my fic folder.

"And that is how our glorious Leader, the most benevolent and wonderful Light Yagami, came to apprehend the tyrant L and bring peace again. I shudder to think what our world would be like if our fearless Leader had not been victorious."

Matt has heard this story before. He's heard it more than once. He's heard it since he was a teenager, and he suppresses a yawn and lets his eyes wander to the window, past the bars to the barbed wire fence and the surrounding forest. He'd only been in this place for a little under a month but the lesson plans were more or less the same as in the public facilities.

Only this place isn't public. It operates under the guise of a reformatory for particularly troubled youth but everyone knows the truth about it.

It's a prison.

It's worse than a prison. People went in and never came back out. Or, if they happened to be lucky enough to either escape or survive their sentence, they came back changed. They came back with ugly scars on their temples, drooling, terrified. Subdued. The fear is another vital aspect of it, fear of the government, fear of the police and rebuttal and punishment. It's what has kept Light Yagami in power for the past five years.

Matt remembers living in America, the way the economy collapsed in on itself, the rioting, the police choke-hold; the way it seemed to spread, like a virus, from Canada and into Europe and how only Japan seemed to survive it. How their Prime Minister Soichiro Yagami kept everything in check and under control. There was no panic in Japan. No crisis. Life continued on as per usual.

Until he died, suddenly and unexpectedly.

Then Light Yagami took over and things spiralled downward even faster. The invasion of North Korea gave him firepower and when China sided with him it got worse. The riots escalated—everything broke down. Everything just caved in on itself, and it was Light Yagami who built it all back up. And how could any government argue, when he was backed by sixteen storehouses packed with nuclear missiles? It wasn’t even that nobody tried to stop him. Plenty of people did. But Light is nothing but charming and deceptive and underhanded, and people who opposed him started disappearing and turning up dead. Happy accidents, car crashes and suicides and random muggings. The only one who ever came close had been L, and that had ended like all the others.

Matt leans back in his chair and is thankful it doesn't squeak. He's been okay so far. He's stayed under the radar of everyone, took the pills handed to him and smiled and said “yes sir” whenever something was asked of him. It makes his skin crawl. It makes him sick. He wonders if his mother is ashamed.

"Am I boring you, Eighty-Two?"

Matt dimly registers his number being called. In here he is not a human being, he's just a number, another digit on a long list. He is not Matt Jeevas, son of a former French actress and a district attorney. He's just Eighty-Two, the numbers dark ink against his inner wrist.

"What? No."

"You've been looking out that window for fifteen minutes."

Matt thinks that's an exaggeration. He shakes his head, "I haven't. I've been listening."

He doesn't know why he says that. The instructor's eyes narrow at his defiance, and an uncomfortable, heady silence settles in the room. His other classmates are still—even the ones with healing scars that fidget and rock to comfort themselves don't dare move or breathe.

"Are you arguing with me? Raising your voice?"

Matt makes a face without meaning to do it, "I'm not raising my voice."

Shut up, his brain says. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

The instructor's jaw tightens. Then she turns and walks to the other side of the room, her heels clicking against the stark white linoleum, and she punches a few buttons on an intercom.

A voice crackles through the other end, "Yes?"

"I'm having some trouble with a student," she says, and Matt feels like he should run, like he should make a break for it while he still has the mental capacity to know he should run, "Could you send someone to collect him?"

"Of course," the voice responds, "They will be there shortly."

The teacher turns to him, and Matt swears she looks smug. Fear, white hot and familiar, uncoils in the pit of his stomach and threatens to suffocate him. It curls around his throat like a python and squeezes and he feels cold all over, like he's been dumped in an ice bath.

It's not even five minutes. The door creaks open, and then men in suits are hauling him to his feet, and Matt doesn't fight; he lets them drag him up and they shove him out of the room and down a hallway. The next door needs to be opened with a keypad—on the other side the floors and walls aren't pristine and white. They're streaked with dried blood, and it reeks to high heaven of something that might be rotting flesh. The hairs on his neck stand up as they haul him to an empty room, spare a table and two chairs, and deposit him in it.

It feels like hours that he's stuck in there, pacing, until a man in a white-coat finally comes in. He's carrying a tray with several small cups on it. He smiles in a way that reminds Matt of a snake, and he tries to resist the urge to take a step backwards.

"Hello, Eighty-Two. Sit, please."

He does. He does it out of fear, and the man smiles, pacified by his obedience.

"I hear you were being argumentative in class," he says, picking each little cup off the tray to set on the table. Matt can see now they're full of pills, "You know that's not appropriate."

"I know."

The man slides a cup toward him, and he takes it and immediately downs the contents. The man smiles wider.

"But I know you're a good boy, Eighty-Two. You love our Leader."

Another cup is slid his way, and Matt takes it and only hesitates a little before he swallows the pills. He'd been pissing blood and waking up vomiting since he came here, but saying no to these people resulted in chunks of your brain missing, and what's a little puke and bloody piss when compared to losing your frontal lobe?

"Not like your whore mother," the man says, and Matt struggles to swallow, "She was selfish. She didn't love you. She wouldn't have left you alone if she did. Our Leader loves you, Eighty-Two. He does. He wants you to be happy and healthy."

Matt remembers his mother too clearly. Matt remembers the French ghetto they were both herded in to. He remembers watching his mother be beat for questioning, the fear and the confusion of simple everyday tasks. He remembers the day she died, not long after L's death was splashed over newspapers and every remaining social media site as a warning. How she died rebelling, rioting in the ghetto—shot dead and then strung up as an example. Matt had been only fifteen at the time, and he'd managed to hide for years under his neighbour's floorboards, living off the meager scraps of food that could be slipped down to him.

Until they found him.

The neighbour died of two gunshot wounds to the head. Harbouring the spawn of a rebel was treason.

That's how—

Nausea rises in the back of his throat, and he nods despite how it makes his head spin, "I know."

"Good boy."

He eases another cup of pills toward him, and Matt's about to grab them when there's a banging from outside in the hallway. Then there's shouting, lots of it, and Matt isn't sure what's going on, but the man tells him to stay still and don't even breathe and gets up.

The door opens for only a second before something solid connects with the guard's head and sends him sprawling. A boy, probably his age, ducks inside. He's got shaggy blond hair on one side of his head while the other is shaved, an ugly scar marring the skin just above his ear, and his eyes are wild, bright blue and frantic. They pin Matt where he sits, and then the boy spits out a mouthful of pills into his palm.

"Get up," he hisses, "Now."

Matt's legs aren't responding right, but he manages to do as he's told. The room swims, and the blond boy stalks over, snatching the cup of pills off the table. He inspects what's inside and makes a face before looking up at him again.

"Did you swallow?"

Matt's head wobbles in a nod. The boy huffs out a breath in what's clearly frustration.

"Don't take this personally. Or do, I don't care. But remember I'm saving our lives."

Matt can't even get out a protest before the kid has his arm in a vice grip and is slamming a fist into his gut. Matt's head spins, and the unbearable wave of nausea gets worse, enough that he has to jerk himself backward to avoid puking on the kid's feet.

A hand rubs over his spine, and when Matt looks back he's surprised to see the boy beside him. There's still banging on the door behind them, and he smiles, a little, at him.

"You're going to be fine," he says, "I'm Mello."

“Matt,” He glances toward the door before he turns back to Mello, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Not letting them win," Mello replies, like it ought to be obvious, "See that vent? We're going to climb out through there."

Matt follows his eyes to the air duct in the top corner of the room. They would fit, barely, but he shakes his head.

"They're going to kill us."

"We're better alive," Mello says, going back to the table to start to push it over, "Good propaganda says 'yes sir'. We're useless dead. Not even good for experimenting on."

"Experimenting on?"

"What do you think the pills are for, dummy?" Mello snaps, shoving the table flush to the wall before he grabs the one chair, "Are you going to help or not?"

The banging gets worse. Matt looks between the door and Mello. Mello sighs.

"Look, like it or not, we're partners now. They'll never believe you're not in on it. So you might as well help me."

"You're crazy."

"No, I'm not," Mello says, "Now come on."

Matt tries to remember how to breathe and he thinks distantly of his mother, standing tall at the front of that line of people in the ghetto, chanting “Death to Light Yagami” in French before the army open fired on them all. Mello is still watching him, and he swallows past the knot in his throat and grabs the other chair, dragging it over to the table. Mello wastes no time in climbing up, and he pulls at the grate over the vent as Matt tries not to panic as the thumping at the door gets louder.

It takes him way too long but Mello gets the grate off and climbs in and Matt follows. It's dark and dusty. He bites on his lip and starts to crawl blindly forward.

"Just be quiet," Mello says, and his voice echoes around them, tinny and metallic, "It's not far. This vent should go outside."

The statement doesn't inspire confidence, and Matt wonders if he should turn around but he keeps going, he keeps crawling forward until his palms brush Mello's bare feet. He can see the outline of his silhouette, illuminated by light, and Mello thumps his shoulder against the grate until it pops off. The amount of noise makes Matt uncomfortable, and Mello climbs down first before he follows.

They're not outside.

They're far from outside. They're in a room surrounded by bodies, none of them older than eighteen, in various states of decay, some missing limbs and parts of their skulls, some stitched together. Matt feels sick. Mello curses under his breath, and he looks frantically around the room before back to Matt.

"This should be outside."

"Yeah, well—"

The door at the opposite end of the room bangs open, and several guards come in. Mello makes run for the vent, but it's too tall, and the guards grab him before he can get up. Matt doesn't know what to do, and two men grab him and club him upside the head, and the last thing he sees is Mello, flailing and screaming, before everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick chapter update. I kind of forgot it was Monday?
> 
> Thanks again to greenmage128 for beta'ing this chapter. You are the actual best person ever, okay?

Matt spends three days rolling in and out of consciousness.

For three days he exists in that space between not quite asleep and not entirely awake. He hears the buzz of voices, faint and far away, and sometimes he sees people and bright lights, but mostly it’s dark and cold when he's awake. He doesn't dream. He supposes he ought to be thankful for that.

When he finally comes to, he's lying on a cot in a stark white room. Mello is on the bed across from him, and he looks up when he hears him moving. His eyes are faded, dulled over and glassy. His lip is split, and his fingers are bent into strange angles and swollen black and blue. Matt's head throbs, and Mello eases off his mattress to approach him.

“Are you okay?”

“Been better,” He croaks, “Do we have any water?”

Mello nods and goes to the small bathroom. He can see a hole in the ground and a tiny faucet jutting out of the pristine white walls. There's blood smeared on the floor though and Matt wonders whose it is. Mello comes back with a small plastic cup full and the water tastes metallic and stale and disgusting, but it’s cold.

“What happened.”

“They caught us,” Mello says, kneeling beside his bed, “They took us to separate rooms. I don't know what they did to you. You don't have a scar, so I'm assuming they didn't try to...”

Matt reaches up to scrub a hand through his hair and discovers he has none now. They'd shaved him bald, and he looks down at his hands. They don't look like Mello's. He's not sure if he's relieved or not. They seemed to have gone easier on him than they had on him, and he's not sure what that means.

“You seemed to know what you were doing.”

“I've done it before.”

“Why?”

Mello huffs out a breath and stands up, “I don't expect you to understand.”

Matt can't help but scowl at the back of his head. There's bruises along his throat, long and thin, like a rope. Had they tried to hang him? Or worse? Matt's not sure that he wants to know, really, because this place is worse than a prison. It's hell.

“Try me.”

“Somebody has to!” Mello snaps back at him, but he clams up quickly when shadows pass by their door. The jingle of the guard’s keys follow it, and there's a long tense moment where they both think he's coming in. But he keeps walking, and they both breathe out slow, “If someone doesn't stand up to this jackass, no one will.

“People have tried. And now they're dead.”

“That's what they want you to think,” Mello insists, “L isn't dead.”

Matt wants to laugh. He sits up a bit more on his elbow. He has to pee. He feels nauseous. Mello's eyes have that glint to them, the same crazy gleam they had when he burst into the interrogation room and ruined his life. Now they had a record of him. He'd never be able to slip under the radar again, he had been marked, his head bare, just little strands of red stubble now. They knew he was trouble. But it had been worth it for the hope, the barest glimmers of it illuminating Mello's silhouette in that air shaft.

“L is dead. They showed it on the news.”

“It's propaganda. That's Light's favourite tool,” Mello says, moving to sit next to him on the bed, “Look. I know it's hard to believe but you have to trust me.”

Trust him. Trust Mello. It hadn't gotten him anywhere so far, and Matt exhales and shakes his head.

“I don't want this,” He tells him, “I was just going to... quietly go through my sentence and then go home. I was just going to survive this, and then you showed up, and now I-”

“They would have done this to you regardless,” Mello says, “Look. I didn't mean for any of this. I thought we were getting out. But just... trust me. I will get us out. I'll get us out of this place, but I have to know you won't rat me out if I tell you something. Can I trust you?”

Matt makes a face, “Don't you think if I was going to rat you out I'd have done it already?”

“You don't know this place,” Mello says, “They'll... try and turn you against me. But if you don't betray me, I won't betray you. Then we can get out of here together and go somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” Matt repeats, “There's nowhere safe anymore. Light has—”

“There are still countries that haven't given in to him. England, for one,” Mello says, “South Korea. Australia.”

“We are in the fucking hot bed of Light's power. We'd probably do better in Japan,” Matt shakes his head, “It's all fine and dandy to  _say_  we can go to these places, but how the hell are we going to get there? You know air travel is restricted. I'm barely an American citizen anymore.”

That makes Mello pause, “What do you mean?”

“I'm a ghetto rat,” Matt says, “French district, New York. They stripped our citizenship three years ago. I'm an alien, at best.”

Mello sighs and looks down at his hands, “My Mother went to the Polish Ghetto in Chicago. My Father's family has been landed for generations but he went with her. I stayed with my grandmother.”

“Lucky you.”

Mello studies him quietly, silent, thoughtful, “Why are you here then?”

Matt looks at him and shakes his head, “It's not important.”

He feels him reach for him, then his fingers of his uninjured hand wind around his and squeeze, “It is.”

“Just... not now,” He slides out from under the thin cotton bed to stand up. Mello's good hand steadies his lower back, “I gotta piss. I'll be back.”

Mello doesn't try to stop him. He pads into the empty bathroom, and his reflection in the broken mirror startles him. He's lost a lot of weight, his face gaunt and his head bare. He has a few cuts on his face and some bruises, and there are fine needle points along the vein in his neck, which is far more prominent than he remembers it being. It's a dark blue under the pale of his skin, and he forces himself to look away and toward the hole in the floor.

This is his life now, and he supposes it's not any different than cowering under the floorboards of a dilapidated old brownstone in the ghetto. He misses his mother, though. He misses her touch, misses her smile and the way that she kept flowers in their home, even in the end, when things were the worst.

But he'd made it this far. He could keep going.

Right?

* * *

 

They don't feed them a lot in this section of the prison.

In his old cell block, the food was shit but it was consistent. Mello says it’s to weaken them, to break them, and he hoards stale, mouldy bread under his mattress for when it gets too bad to bear. They don't have a lot in common. Mello reveals he had a sister, but she had been executed because of him. His grandmother, too. Matt wonders if he fights because their blood is on his hands.

They don't let them out of the cell, either. Matt does what he can for Mello's hand. He pops his knuckles and fingers back into place and tapes them with the shredded up bottom of his bed sheets. Mello bites on a pillow as he does it to keep from screaming and alerting the guards.

The guards are vicious, and Matt learns quickly why only half of Mello's head is shaved. They can't haul him around by his hair if he doesn't have any. It’s twisted and demeaning, and it makes Mello angry, like a caged animal. He paces most nights. Matt tries to sleep as much as he can. Sleep is his only reprieve from this hell; it's the only way out, and he takes it. The guards must notice, because they start giving him more pills. They make his skin crawl and his mind buzz. He can't sleep.

“Just tuck the pills behind your tongue,” Mello tells him late one night, dawn light just starting to creep in. Their room has a slat of a window to taunt them with the reality of the outside world, “Then spit them down the hole when you're back here.”

For the first two days, it works, and Matt sleeps like he's dead. He sleeps through dinner. He sleeps and sleeps, and then they haul him out and stick a needle in his neck, and he doesn't sleep again. Any time he tries, his muscles seize, and he feels like he has bugs crawling over him, and he scratches at the needle mark in his neck until it oozes blood, and Mello sits on the bed across from him and holds his hands so he doesn't itch.

“Don't let them win,” He says, “You're better than this. You're better. Just talk to me, Matt. Talk. Talk to me.”

He wants to die.

He never tells Mello that because he won't understand. Matt quickly comes to learn that Mello's sole goal is survival and escape, and he would do anything to get it; he would do whatever it took. Matt wants to admire him. It's so brave and so stupid that it just has to work.

And maybe it would.

His body finally gives in after almost four days of no sleep. He passes out with his head on Mello's lap, with Mello's hands smoothing over the half-grown in remains of his hair. It's not coming in fully because of their lack of nutrition, and whatever does grow in comes out in clumps. His nails are grooved and brittle. Even his teeth hurt.

When he wakes up, two hours later, he and Mello are twined on the bed, and Matt eases himself away from him. They don't talk about it.

* * *

 

Time is irrelevant here.

Days, weeks, months—it's all the same thing. Before it had been a lot easier to count the flow of time by the rise and fall of the sun. But here, in this part of the prison, it's not possible. The escape seems like a lifetime ago. Freedom seems even longer. He wonders how long they would be holding them. Maybe they'd never be released.

Matt had always assumed the people that vanished just died in this place. He didn't want to consider the alternative, that they didn't come back because they stayed in here for the remainder of their lifetimes. Part of him doesn't want to believe that—living a ripe lifetime in this place doesn't seem possible. Maybe in the main ward. The food was crap, but it existed, and they didn't shove as many pills down your throat, and the beatings were infrequent. Before he was only fairly certain the guards didn't see him as a human being.

Here, he's sure they don't.

Mello is pacing.

He does it a lot, truthfully; he's restless. Matt doesn't have the energy. He's tired, he's hungry, his body aches. He feels like it's betraying him. Falling apart while his mind stays.

But even that's slipping. He hallucinates, sometimes, sees people that aren't there.

"They'll let us out of here eventually," Mello tells him, looking back at him, "Christ, you look like shit."

"Thanks. You're a peach."

"No, really," Mello comes over and kneels next to the bed. He fusses a little too much sometimes, and Matt will never admit it, but he appreciates it, "How are you doing?"

"I'm tired," He says, reaching up to scratch at the scabbed needle mark in his neck, "I'm really tired."

Mello takes his hand from his throat, "Don't. It'll get infected, and then we'll really be in shit. Leave it be."

Matt makes a face. He's not sure where he gets the energy to do it. Mello laughs and pets at the patchy remains of his hair, and the touch is tender and familiar. Matt's not sure if he would be able to handle this if Mello wasn't around, not that he would admit that out loud. Having someone who gave a shit... it mattered. It helped.

Mello lets go of his hands and stands, shifting his weight a little before he sits down next to him. The mattress creaks.

"We need to talk," He says, "We need to consider our next step."

Matt isn't following him. He isn't sure it it's the lack of sleep or just Mello not making sense. He tended to ramble sometimes, to go off on tangents that Matt couldn't understand.

"Our next step?"

"To getting out of here," Mello replies, and he's using that tone Matt sort of hates, the one that implies that he's being an idiot and missing the point, "We can't stay here forever. You're going to die from lack of sleep, for one thing."

"I'm fine."

"Have you seen yourself lately?" Mello asks, "You're not fine."

Matt would wave him off, but he can't make himself expend the effort. Instead he just sighs, "Okay, what are you thinking then?"

Mello shrugs, "Whatever it is, I'll have to be able to do it on my own. You're basically useless."

"Gee, thanks."

The scary thing is that he isn't wrong.

And it won't get better, not until they got out. They had found a way to break him down. It was only a matter of time before they found the same thing in Mello. Matt isn't sure how he kept going. His sleeping patterns were sporadic too, and he barely ate, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down at all. It very well may be sheer stubbornness keeping him alive now.

They sit in silence, side by side on his bed, Mello hunched forward, quietly thoughtful. Matt's close enough to make out his scar a little easier, still healing and angry red against the feathery blond hair growing back. He has the strangest urge to reach out and touch it, and asking had crossed his mind once or twice. But asking how and why seemed pointless. He knows why. They did that to him. They cut into him and tried to fix whatever had broken in him.

“It has to be the air vents,” Mello says finally, sitting back upright. Matt just looks at him, “It's the only sure way.”

“Because it was so sure last time. We ended up where they store the bodies before they get rid of them. What's to stop them from just shooting us and leaving us to die in there?”

“Did you look at the corpses?”

Matt's nose wrinkles, “I did my best not to, actually.”

“All those people died during medical procedures,” Mello says, “Conjoining, lobotomies, electro-shock. None of them were just shot dead. We're no good to them dead. I told you that already. They need us alive.”

Alive. Or however close to live they can get, he supposes. As long as they breathed and blinked and needed to piss they could be classified as living. Matt looks away toward the slat in the wall that they've deemed a window and wishes he could look out it. He doesn't even know what month it is, what season. He had been found out in early fall. Was it winter already? Christmas? Was the ground covered in snow?

“I'm not going to die here,” Mello says suddenly, and Matt can't help but turn toward him, “I'm not going to let them destroy me. I'm going to get out of this building, one way or another.”

Matt just looks at him and wonders if he's brave or stupid. He remembers his mother saying the same thing, that they would move back out of the ghetto and home overseas to France, where it would be safe. Light Yagami's campaign of terror hadn't reached France yet. It was still safe for them. She had her French passport, and he was a minor. They could go there. But after L died...

“So the air vents it is.”

Mello looks at him, “Do you think you can—”

“Don't worry about me,” He wishes he felt as confident as he sounded, “I can handle it.”

Mello nods shortly, and Matt drops his eyes down to his fingers. They fidget idly with each other. He pulls at a hangnail and tries not to dwell on the splits in his nails. Getting out may not be the hardest part. Once outside they'd have to get past the barbed wire, and  _then_  through that forest and into a city. Neither of them would have papers of any kind, no documents verifying their citizenship (or his lack thereof).

“We're going to have to get out of the cell first.”

Ah. Yeah, that. Matt stops fidgeting and looks over at Mello again, who is staring back. He's pretty sure they both have the same grim look on their faces. The only time they were permitted to leave their cell was when a guard came and took them for their medicine and  _therapy_. Matt sighs quietly.

“Then figure out what vent leads where,” He says, “It only gets harder after that, you know. Maybe we—”

“Past the fence is easy,” Mello tells him, “I know a guy here. He can help us get out of the country. No paperwork. No documents. But we'll be free.”

“...Really.”

Mello has that look in his eye. That crazy gleam, that little something that made Matt uneasy. It's there, but barely, “I know L's former handler. Watari. He's here. And I know where he is. He can arrange something for us. He's done it before. He knows what vent it is to the outside.”

“Why didn't you—”

“Because I wasn't sure,” Mello cuts in, “But a few days ago, they showed us a prop film. News footage from when L was alive, and that man was in every shot, by L's laptop. I mean, I guess I should have believed him, but it's hard when the man is claiming L is alive.”

“...What?”

Mello looks at him, “I already told you. L isn't dead. Now come on. Let's tidy up a bit so the guards will let us out of here to go into that common room. Watari's in there in the evening playing chess with himself.”

Matt gets this funny feeling that they're getting in over their heads, only he doesn't know if it really matters anymore.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thank you to every single person who has been following this. I appreciate every one of you, you're all wonderful.
> 
> Unbeta'd so please disregard any strange stuff that pops up? Today has been hectic, I didn't think I'd get this up tonight.

The guards don't let them into the common room for another four days after they decide to talk to Watari. Its torture to wait, knowing that they can't do anything besides that.

It's Matt's first time in this section of the prison and he raises an eyebrow at the people. Most of them are just sitting there, staring blankly at walls and the ceiling. Some of them are even drooling. Mello leads the way, quietly scanning faces. He looks lost in thought and Matt makes sure to stay close to him.

"Is he here?"

Mello shakes his head, then curses under his breath, "I don't see him."

It's another hour of waiting before Watari comes in. Mello perks up as soon as he spots him and he's up faster than Matt has ever seen, making his way across the room to meet him. 

Watari is an older man in a too big uniform. He's bald too, and his head is littered with scars. Matt figures that once they found out he was L's handler, they went to town on him and tried to break him. He wonders if he ever did give in, though he supposes not. L is still alive and well, after all, while his right hand man rots in a prison that is not afraid to carve into his skull.

Matt makes his way over when Mello waves at him and the three of them sit down in a seat as far from the guard scanning the room as possible. Watari seems like a harmless old man, just like the ones that he would see in the market in the ghetto, or even in the old apartment building he lived in before all this. 

"I'm surprised you're here, Mello," Watari says quietly, and he talks slowly, like the words aren't coming to him properly, "I'm supposing you could not find the vent."

"I got in, but it didn't go anywhere," Mello tells him, "It just took us to the incinerator."

Watari hums it over for a moment and Matt lets his mind wander away from the conversation. He's momentarily distracted by a boy, no older than fifteen, crouched down by the guard station. He's got a mess of wooden toy blocks spilled everywhere on the floor in front of him and he's building with them, stacking one on top of the other with a focus that is almost scary in its intensity. Then, for no discernible reason, he starts going in reverse, taking the tower down, still silent. It's bizarre.

The kid looks up from the blocks and meets his eyes. Matt feels like a peeping tom, though he's not entirely sure why. The kid smiles and he’s pretty sure he sees scars under his flop of feathery, white blond hair. Christ, what were these people doing here?

"Are you listening?"

Mello sounds impatient. Both he and Watari are looking at him when he turns back to them.

"Yeah, sorry," He spares the kid one more sideways glance. He's stacking blocks again, "How do we get out of here?"

"It seems as if you've made a wrong turn," Watari says, "If my maps are correct, and if what I've been told is accurate, you missed the way to the outside. It's nearby. That incinerator kicks up a fair amount of smoke that has to be vented out."

Mello leans forward, "Can you arrange for your contacts outside to meet us?"

"Let me work on that," Watari says, "I have had some trouble getting in touch with them. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but I want to give them time to regroup before they come this close again."

Mello nods, "Alright. You give the word when, and we'll go."

Watari smiles at them and rises to his feet. He shuffles away, his walk slow and unsteady and Matt watches his back until he rounds the corner. 

"...What did they do to him?"

Mello leans back into his seat a little and shakes his head, "I don't know. Nobody really does. He won't talk about it. Not that anyone's really asking, anyway."

"So now what?"

"We wait," Mello says, "Watari has contacts outside the prison he can get to meet us and take us to somewhere safe, but it's risky for them to come here. So we wait for him."

Matt feels like they wait a lot, but he supposes there isn't much either of them can do about that. What other choice did they have? They wouldn't do well in that forest without help and Watari seems reliable enough to trust with that task. But the waiting... it's gotten old now. Especially when it's their freedom at stake.

"Come on," Mello stands up, "Let's go. I've had enough being social."

For someone with a limited desire to be friendly, Mello spends a lot of time in the common room now that they're allowed out. He never goes without him, either. Mello talks to Watari, mostly. Matt people watches. That Block Kid is there more often than not, and one day he decides to sit with him.

"What are you doing?"

The kid lifts his eyes from his toys. They're big and dark and something in his expression says 'are you stupid?' and Matt isn't sure how he's said so much with no words.  After a few moments, he gives up on crouching and decides to just sit cross legged on the floor. Easier on his thighs.

"I mean, what are you building?"

Block Kid just blinks once, twice, then turns back to what he’s doing.

"I'm Matt," He reaches out to take a block and the kid looks at him again, "What about you?"

Matt wonders if this is what talking to a brick wall is like. Actually, he's fairly sure conversing with the wall might be easier.

He only really gives up when he catches Mello staring at him. He just shrugs, bids the weird kid goodbye, and then wanders over to sit next to Mello and Watari.

"Chatty guy," He says and Mello rolls his eyes, "Is everyone that talkative?"

"The ones who haven't had half their brain scraped out of their skulls are," He tells him, glancing toward the kid, "Just forget him, okay? He isn't worth worrying over."

Matt wouldn't necessarily call it being worried. Curious, maybe, but not worry. He elbows Mello a little, makes a face, and then slumps down in his seat to get comfortable as Watari and Mello seem to resume their conversation where it had left off. It's just easier to let the topic drop. 

"So where are you two thinking you're going to go once you're out?"

"Anywhere Light isn't," Matt says, ignoring Mello's withering look of 'no duh', "I'm kind of sick of the guy."

"That narrows it down some," Watari smiles, "The list of countries that haven't given in to him has grown a bit shorter, I'm afraid. Australia announced its full cooperation."

Mello sits forward, "You're kidding."

"One of the guards informed me of that this morning," Watari is still smiling. Matt doesn't know why, "So far, only England, South Korea and a few smaller counties in Central and South Africa remain opposed to him. Though, I've heard that it's a very delicate situation there."

"I guess our only option is England," Mello says, "Is there a chance that the guard lied, or made a mistake. Maybe—"

"No. I trust him," Watari sighs, "It's a losing battle, I'm afraid. Yagami has an undeniable lead."

"And L—"

"Is only one fugitive. He's trapped, too."

Matt wishes he had tuned this out. He has that same uneasy, sinking feeling he had when he first heard of America's unconditional surrender, in light of the threat of nuclear warfare.

_'It is in the people's best interest that we agree to this man's wishes and while it is not usually in this government's policies to give in to terrorist demands we have confirmation that Prime Minister Light Yagami has successfully invaded North Korea and taken control of more than half of their nuclear weapons. That's why—‘_

Matt swallows to dislodge the lump in his throat and reaches for Mello's hand without thinking about it. His fingers are cold and kind of clammy and he squeezes two of them and pushes the memory of his mother's outrage out of his mind. How dare they surrender, she'd shouted, how dare they give in to that monster of a man, this is America, Home of the Free and Land of the Brave!

(She went out that night. She went out and she left him with the neighbours and she didn't come home until after breakfast. She had smelled like ammonia and—)

Mello is looking at him, eyebrows knitted in concern, and Matt just shakes his head and mumbles a quick 'I'm okay'. That doesn't seem to soothe Mello any, but he lets it go and turns his focus back to Watari.

The sooner they got away from all this, the better.

 

* * *

"What's wrong?"

Mello doesn't waste any time. It's hard to hide anything from him. They spend twenty four hours together, all day, every day. If anyone is going to dig out his secrets, it'll be Mello.

"Just... it's nothing."

They're back in their room, Mello sitting on the bed across from his, picking idly at one of the loaves of bread he had squirrelled away.

"You suck at lying."

Matt makes a face, "Shut up. I'm just tired."

"I know what you're like when you're tired," Mello says blandly, "This is not tired. What is it?"

"What if Watari can't help us?"

"He already said he can."

"He's also missing a very big section of his brain," Matt says, "He could be totally off his rocker. He could be working for them. This could be a trap."

"Matt," Mello throws the loaf of bread at him, "Shut up and eat. You're being paranoid."

"I'm being practical," Matt takes the bread though and rips a small piece off, "If this fails—"

"It won't," Mello frowns a little, "Are you backing out?"

"No," Matt swallows hard. The bread settles like a brick in his stomach, "Jesus, no."

He doesn't want to be in this room when the guards realize Mello has gotten outside. The things they would do to him, the information they'd try to pull out of him... he doesn't even want to imagine what kind of terrible torture they would dream up.

Mello keeps looking at him for a moment longer before he sighs, stands up, and crosses the room to sit next to him. His arm is warm and a little heavy when it curls around his shoulders. 

"We're gonna get out of here. We both are."

Matt wants to believe that. He desperately wants to believe that and he leans into Mello's touch. He probably is just being paranoid. This is all they have, this little shred of hope to cling to, something bright to chase rather than the bleak future they faced otherwise. 

Matt just hopes that they aren't being moths, drawn to a candle's flame.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy MattxMello week everyone!
> 
> Also, can I just say how humbled and amazed I am that this fic has over 100 hits already? You are all awesome. Thank you.
> 
> Margaret is also awesome because she beta'd this chapter for me today, just so I could have it up in time. So thank you to her, because I've been crazy busy and I didn't do this when I should have. Oops.

"So, tell me how you've been sleeping."

Matt hates these therapy sessions. It's just thinly veiled brainwashing, with a little fake concern thrown in. They're not really any different than the sessions he'd been going to in the previous ward, except these had more medication and false sweetness. He used to be able to lie about how much he loved Light, how much he wanted to change, how sorry he was, and how he was nothing like his mother.

Matt can't make the words come out anymore. He'd resorted to 'yes' or 'no' or silence for most questions and he's not sure what pisses the doctors off more. (He assumes they're doctors. They all wear white lab coats and carry clipboards.)

"You know how I'm sleeping," Matt says, "I'm not. That's the point."

He probably shouldn't be so insolent. Mello's gotten to him. He always came back black and blue from these things, spitting up their cups of pills. They were going to cut into him again, but Matt doubts Mello really cares. All he has is his rebellions, that glimmer of maybe freedom on the horizon.

"All you have to do is accept our leader into your heart, and you'll find peace. You'll sleep."

"No."

The blow to his head comes so quick that it nearly knocks him off his chair. Then the doctor has what little hair he has now in a fist, and he's jabbing the needle into his neck, pressing down on the plunger.

"This stops when you want it to."

"Fuck you," Matt snaps back at him, even though he wishes he doesn't. Mello is rubbing off on him, "And fuck your leader, too."

He knows better than that. He knows what can happen in these rooms. They could decide he's become too unruly and start looking for ulterior ways to make him more agreeable, including, but not limited to, a lobotomy.

Matt knows he needs to shut up and just put his head down.

But he's sick of it. He's sick of Light Yagami and this place and the guards. If he ever sees the teacher who put him in this ward, he'd kill her. That in itself is a scary thought. He's not violent. He doesn't really even believe that it's a viable solution, but it's the only method these people understand.

He remembers thinking the people fighting back so hard against Light were being foolish. He remembers listening to news reports on their radio in the ghetto, shaking his head as the anchorman reported mass firebombing of the Japanese embassy, of riots and protests across America and Europe. He had thought this would pass. It would end, and things would go back to normal.

Matt wishes he knew then what he does now.

The next blow does knock him off his chair. It clatters against the cement floor, and Matt sits up a bit before a boot lands squarely on his chest, pinning him. He wheezes to catch his breath.

"Insolence is not tolerated."

The next hit is to his chin, then everything goes black.

* * *

"Matt?"

That's Mello's voice.

"Come on, you piece of shit. Wake up."

Yeah, definitely Mello.

It takes him a minute before he manages to open his eyes. Everything is too bright and spotty. He's back in their cell, in his bed, Mello kneeling down beside him. He looks worried.

"Jesus, are you okay?"

"We need to stop meeting like this," Matt says, sitting up a bit, "What happened?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Mello sits back, "You went for your therapy session, and the guards brought you back unconscious and bloody. I cleaned you up as best as I could. You might have broken a rib, though. What the hell did you do?"

He tries to remember. He tries to think back but nothing is coming. After a moment, he just shrugs. "I think I told the doctor to fuck off."

Mello just looks at him. Then he bursts out laughing, standing up to make his way to their bathroom, "I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"You think?"

"Since when did you have steel balls?" Mello asks, and Matt hears their tap turn on. When he comes back, he's got a plastic cup full of water, "That's kind of my thing."

"I told them Light could fuck off, too."

"You're an idiot," Mello says, "No wonder they beat the shit out of you."

"Yeah, yeah. That's the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?"

"I'm tougher than you are," Mello says, "You're kind of delicate."

Matt rolls his eyes, and Mello grins before he hands off the glass of water. It's a muddy brownish colour but it’s cold. Matt sips at it as Mello nudges his way on to the mattress and curls up against him. He never waits to be invited, just takes what he needs. He's warm, but his hands are cold, and Matt drains the cup before he tosses it aside and settles back in.

Mello's hand finds his and his fingers lace through his.

"We just have to keep surviving," he says quietly, "We'll be out of here soon. Right?"

Matt isn't sure if he's asking or telling him so he just doesn't say anything.  


* * *

The guards keep them in their room for what Matt thinks might be a week. Not that time really meant anything to either of them anymore. They've been there too long now.

It's surprising what the mind and body can get used to, given enough time.

Mello stays with him the whole time, even when the guards come for him. He insists he doesn't feel well, and the one time they drag him out, he fights back so hard they give up on it. It's not something worth fighting for to them, and Matt can't help but think he's being an idiot, showing that much attachment. They'd find a way to destroy that.

The whole thing with Mello is bizarre, anyway. They were friends, sure, Matt would say that. But he can't help but feel like there's something more underneath, something Mello isn't saying and he isn't asking about. He's never had a friend like Mello. He lost the friends he had when he was herded into the ghetto, and after that it had just been him and his mother.

Matt supposes when you only have one person to depend on, you tended to cling to them.

Mello always keeps him within his line of sight, even in the common room. He never lets him wander too far out of his peripheral vision, just on the fringes. Matt has tested it numerous times, moving just out of range and Mello always immediately turned to find him. At first, he didn't get it. But he supposes it’s something for comfort and leaves it be. Mello is a tad strange anyway.

He doesn't even know how they ended up like this. They just sort of fell together and stayed together. Matt isn't entirely sure how he feels about it. But then again, he's not sure how he feels about a lot of things anymore. He used to have a very clear cut sense of his life and what was in it, but now...

Feelings are muddy, complicated things anyway.

"They know what you are up to."

Matt's gaze shifts from Mello and Watari to Block Kid in front of him. He'd long since given up on sitting in on their escape plan meet ups with Watari. He always wandered somewhere else and plunked down with whoever didn't flinch or shy away from him. These meetings were always sort of depressing in a weird way. He does know that the longer they stay, the worse off they are. The guards would get fed up with Mello eventually. Propaganda is one thing, but he'd become a nuisance sooner or later, and they'd either cut out something vital or they'd just shoot him and get it over with.

Matt still isn't sure which would be worse.  

He isn't even sure if he really trusts Watari either. He has no reason not to, he knows that, but it just seemed too convenient to be true. This sort of thing doesn't happen.

People aren't that lucky.

"What?"

Block Kid starts disassembling his tower, "The guards. They know."

Matt's throat feels dry. This is the first that the kid has ever spoken to him, and Matt just stares blankly at him, until he looks up from his rapidly shrinking tower. He blinks once, twice, then tips his head and reaches up to twine a piece of his feathery hair around his finger.

"Know what?"

Maybe if he plays stupid—

"You two aren't subtle," He uses his other hand to pass him a block, "You should try to be a little less obvious. Everyone here knows."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you stupid?"

Matt bristles a little at the insinuation. The kid smiles, but it doesn't look right. There's something off about it. Like he doesn't really mean it, but he's faking it anyway, like it'll eventually be real.

"No."

Block Kids falls back into his usual silence, and he takes the entire tower down before he starts to rebuild it, piece by piece. It only takes a quick glance at the guard tower to confirm that, yes, the guards are watching Mello and Watari talk quietly. They're watching more intently than they ought to be, really, now that he thinks about it.

Did they actually know?

Matt feels almost nauseous as he stands up and makes his way back to where Mello is. He grabs his arm as soon as he's close enough.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

Mello looks up at him, "You're doing a pretty good job so far."

Watari smiles. Matt squeezes his arm a little harder.

"I mean it. In private."

Mello's expression falters a little, and something unreadable crosses over his face, something Matt can't recognize. He's not sure he wants to anyway, and he purses his lips before he stands up.

"Lead the way, I guess."

Matt doesn't really know why he bothers pulling him away from Watari. It's not like it makes a difference. Either he's betraying them or someone else is. It's not that difficult to figure out, and Matt tries to ignore the way the guards watch them go.

"Okay, what's your damage?"

"The guards know," Matt blurts, glancing backwards quickly, "That kid told me."

Mello's eyebrow raises, "You know that kid is missing at least three quarters of his brain, right? I didn't think he could even still talk."

"Yeah, well, he can," Matt insists, "And I think he's right. You should back off Watari."

"No," Mello replies simply, "He says he's been in contact with L. He—"

"You don't know that," Matt hisses, "Be logical, man, come on. You're a bright dude. This is gonna—"

"Don't," Mello's tone is sharp, "Don't you dare pussy out on me now. I need you to do this with me, Matt, so just don't. Watari will come through for us. You'll see."

Matt can't make himself argue. He can't make himself shatter whatever fragile illusion Mello has, this dream of freedom he's clinging on to. Mello buys the bullshit, he really does, and Matt just glances down at his bare feet.

He can't do this. Mello needs this more than he does.

He likes to think that he's come to terms with his fate, the idea that he'd probably die here, pissing blood with a big portion of his brain long gone. Mello can't handle that, the reality that this is the end for them, both of them. This is all there is now, endless white hallways and distant sounds of wailing and the perpetual smell of burning bodies.

"You're right," he says finally, "I shouldn't have said anything. That kid's probably just making something up."

Mello is quiet for a long few seconds before he nods down the hallway, "Why don't you go back to our room? I'll be there soon. Okay?"

Matt's surprised he's letting him out of his sight but he nods eventually. Mello's eyes follow him until he rounds the corner.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, friends!
> 
> As usual, thanks to Margaret for checking over this chapter. I appreciate the heck out of you. And thank you to all you lovely people who have stuck around and read this thing. You're all rad.

Mello comes back to their room after his therapy session with a black eye and a split lip. That isn't so unusual. He always came back beaten half to hell.

It's the grin on his face that's making Matt nervous.

After their conversation, Mello hadn't laid off Watari. He carried on, business as usual, and Matt has done his best to distance himself from it. If Mello can't be objective, then he will.

"What's gotten into you?"

Mello crosses the room to sit next to him on his bed. He had been dozing before the heavy steel door had opened and Mello had returned. He's still grinning as he pulls what looks like a police baton from one too long sleeve.

Matt just stares at it.

"Jesus," His eyes shift now between the baton and Mello's face, which appears to be stuck in a permanent grin, "Where the hell did you get that?"

"A guard, dipshit," Mello rolls the baton between his fingers, "I swiped it on my way back. He didn't even notice."

"He will eventually."

"Yeah, well, we'll be long gone," Mello stands up, "We're going tonight. During your therapy. I'm gonna get them to take me to a room, and then I'll come for you."

"... Tonight?"

"Watari's people are in position," Mello strips off his shirt as he crosses the room toward their tiny bathroom, and Matt tries not to stare, "He told me yesterday."

Matt can't say he isn't relieved. He is. But this... He turns his head to stare at the club next to him on the bed. He resists the urge to pick it up, to feel its weight in his palm. Mello comes back out a few moments later, and he looks comfortable in his skin, finally, like whatever had him so wound up had disappeared. He crosses the room again and sticks out his pinky finger.

"Teamwork, right?"

Matt has to fight to not look away from him when he links their fingers together.

"Teamwork."

"Just think, this time tomorrow, we'll be free. We'll be on our way to England. No more guards. No more pills. Actual freedom."

Matt can't remember what that's like. But he wants to trust Mello. He wants to believe he won't let him down. He can't. He wouldn't. And that kid... what did he know?

This would work.

* * *

"You and your roommate seem close."

The doctor is sitting across from him, clipboard in his hands, flipping through the pages attached to it. He's a thin, narrow man with hollow cheeks and dark eyes. Matt doesn't like him. He shrugs his shoulders, and the doctor looks up.

"That's not a response."

"I guess we are."

"Hm. I see."

He pushes a container of pills toward him. Matt stares at them with a blank look, then glances back up at the doctor. He knows he'll have to take them, but he needs to stall for more time. Mello would be here soon. He had to be here when he came for him.

If he came, a nasty voice in the back of his mind says. He ignores it and instead focuses on the sounds past the heavy steel door. Maybe if he listened, he'd hear Mello coming.

"Take your medicine."

Matt doesn't say anything. He just keeps looking at the door, past the doctor's head. He stands up. The chair scrapes against the floor as the doctor comes to stand beside him, and he yanks his head backward.

"I said, take your medicine."

It's hard not to spit in his face. He barely manages it, biting down on his tongue so hard he thinks it may bleed.

"Don't make me pry your mouth open," the doctor says, "I will, if I have to."

Try it, and I'll bite your fingers off, Matt thinks bitterly as the doctor's other hand grips onto his jaw hard enough to bruise. He pulls, and Matt counts backwards from ten in his head. Mello would come soon. Mello would be here, and he'd get them out. He knew L's old handler. He could protect them—

There's a sharp knock at the door. The doctor sighs, lets him go, and goes to open it. Matt lifts his head just in time to see him fall, Mello's arm raised with the club in hand. He tells himself he's not relieved, but he's never been a very good liar.

The door creaks when Mello shuts it, stepping over the doctor's prone body. There's an ugly red smear on the floor, and Matt does his best to ignore it. Mello has blood on his sleeves.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine," Mello immediately cuts him off, "It's not mine. Come on."

The grate over the air vent comes off a lot easier this time, and Mello climbs up first. The trip seems to take longer than before. It's all familiar, in a weird way, except they turn left abruptly this time then keep going forward.

"Did you take anything?" Mello asks over one shoulder, "Anything at all?"

Matt can make out the smooth line of the club tucked into Mello's loose fitting uniform pants. Dust tickles his nose, and he glances backwards the way they came. Mello turns right sharply, and he follows.

"No."

"Good."

They crawl forward in silence after that, until they reach another vent. Matt can feel cold air blowing past him lightly, and the sound of a fan whooshing fills the silence of the air shaft. Mello reaches back to pull the baton from the back of his pants before he slides it between the fan blades, bringing them to a grinding halt.

"Just about there."

Matt watches Mello's back as he reaches forward through the fan to fiddle with the grate and for a moment, Matt worries that the baton will fly free and those fan blades will slice through him.

They don't, and Matt hears the sound of the grate hitting the ground.

Mello looks back over one shoulder before he squeezes out past the fan and then vanishes into the darkness. Matt hesitates for a second before he follows, the cool metal of the blade sliding along the length of his spine.

The cold air hits him like a punch to the gut, and rain patters down around him. The ground beneath his bare feet is soft and wet.

They'd made it.

They had actually made it. The outer cement wall of the prison rises up behind them, and Matt glances back at it before over at Mello.

"Holy shit."

Mello sounds breathless.

Before Matt can even register what's happening, Mello throws his arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug. Then he laughs, and it's shaky and unsure but relieved.

Matt hugs him back.

He's not even sure why, but he does. Mello is warm against him, despite the freezing rain and when they pull apart, what's left of Mello's hair is muddy brown and plastered to his forehead.

"We made it."

Mello looks toward the fence, scanning the length of it quietly before he grabs his hand and pulls.

"Come on."

They almost make it to the gate when the first crack of a rifle fills the air. It barely misses them, burying itself into the ground by their feet, kicking up mud.

"Go! Hurry up!"

Another rifle shot rings through the air, and then Mello is crumbling to the ground, dragging Matt along with him. Panic curls tight around his throat as Mello lets go of his hand to grasp at the back of his leg, right below his knee cap. Even in the darkness, Matt can make out blood, thick and dark, seeping between the pale lines of Mello's fingertips.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh... fuck. Mello, dude, come on."

He hears voices behind him, but he doesn't dare look back.

"You have to run," Mello says between gritted teeth, "Go. The hole in the fence is right there. Get through and... just keep going."

"No, no way. I'm not going to—"

"You have to," Mello sounds too calm for someone who just got shot, "Don't make this be for nothing. Go. I'll be fine."

Matt starts to shake his head, and Mello looks up at him. That crazy gleam in his eyes is gone. All that's left is a vulnerable, scared looking kid, the Mello he had been waiting to see all along. They both know what this means.

The guards are getting closer, and Matt inhales deeply to steady his nerves.

"I can't go without you."

"Like hell you can't," Mello shoves at him and Matt stumbles unsteadily to his feet, "Move your ass."

"I'll... I'll come back for you. Okay? I'm going to. I'll come back—"

Another bullet buries itself into the ground by Matt's feet and it's enough to get him moving again. He knows he can't stay, as much as he wants to deny it. Behind him, the voices get louder and closer, and that makes him go faster. He stumbles a little over his own feet and muddy earth, and when he reaches the fence, he grabs onto the cold chain link with two hands to steady himself.

The opening that's cut into the fence is small, and he has to turn sideways to squeeze through. The uneven edges of metal cut into his back through his shirt and scrape along the length of his arms. He barely makes it through and out into the open space in front of him. The chain link rattles loudly behind him as one of the guards hits it trying to catch him, and he risks a look backwards over one shoulder.

The guards by where Mello fell are shouting to go after him, and the man is trying his best to squeeze through the opening.

Matt can barely make out Mello between the legs of the people around him. He's just a mess of blond hair, caked with mud. He wants to go back, but the guard looks like he might make it through, so Matt just turns and runs into the darkness of the woods, trying to keep his footing as he weaves his way through the trees. Another gunshot cracks from behind him, then another right after it.

He runs until he can't anymore, until his lungs ache with each breath, and his stomach heaves. He slumps back against one of the trees, sucking in cold night air as deeply as he can.

He has to go back.

Mello needs him, he knows that, he has to go back and get him. They'd kill him if he didn't. Matt pushes himself off the tree and turns back the way he came. The rain hasn't let up. It's still coming down in thick sheets, soaking his clothes through. They stick to his skinny limbs, water rolling down the length of his neck, stinging against the gashes along his arms and back from the fence. He has to—

"Are you Matt?"

A voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he spins around. There's a woman standing in the gap of trees behind him. She's pale, with dark eyes and long dark hair. Almost immediately, he grabs a nearby tree branch off the ground and raises it in warning, without really thinking too much about it.

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Naomi Misora. I work with Watari. I'm here to meet you. Are you alone?"

That's right, he had contacts on the outside. Matt lets himself relax a little, and he nods. He's exhausted, hungry and tired and just worn out. Naomi smiles thinly.

"We have to go back though," Matt says, "They shot him. They shot Mello. We have to go back to—"

"That won't be possible," she says, and her voice is gentle but still firm, "We can't risk that. And besides, he's... they've probably already shot him. He's dead."

Matt's throat feels too tight. He can't breathe. Mello can't be dead. He just...

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. That's how they operate."

"No, you don't know he's dead. You don't know Mello. He's the one who got me out. I can't just—"

Matt wonders if this is what hysteria feels like. He knows he's being irrational, he just can't make himself give a damn. It's because of him that this happened, that Mello had ended up stuck there, and guilt uncoils in his chest, white-hot and heavy.

"I'm sorry about your friend, but we can't go back. We have to leave. Either you come, or you stay, but they'll be coming after you before long. You won't survive in these woods alone."

Watch me, Matt thinks. He survived under floorboards, he could survive here, as impractical as that is.

"Your friend died so you could live. Don't put that sacrifice to waste. Come with me."

Matt hesitates for a moment before he drops the tree branch in his hands. His fingers are stiff and sore and cold, and he thinks he might be crying, but he can't tell. Naomi steps closer, and her boots make a wet noise in the mud. Her hands are warm as they curl around his, "You'll be safe with us."

Safe.

Matt wonders if that's even possible anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Memorial Day to all my friends in the US!
> 
> I'm sorry to vanish on you all like that. It was a holiday here in Canada last week, and on top of that, the past two weeks have been pretty hectic for me emotionally, so I needed this break. But I'm back, and hopefully sticking to my posting schedule! This chapter was sort of half beta'd because of aforementioned craziness, so I apologize if it's a mess.

_Seven years later._

"Yeah, I tried that. Tried that, too. Who are you talking to? Come on."

Smoke hangs thick and heavy in the room, drifting idly from the lit cigarette dangling from chapped lips. Matt leans back into his chair a little more, ignoring the squeak of protest it makes as he tries not to scowl. He has his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, and he reaches up to grab his smoke, stubbing it out in the ash tray.

"Yeah. I heard. Look, I'm not a magician. I'm doing what I can, but I can't just make firewalls—" he sighs, "fine."

He does his best not to throw his phone against the wall as he hangs up, instead tossing it onto his desk before standing. Distantly, Big Ben starts to chime, and Matt scrubs a hand through his hair and pads from his room to the kitchen.

London is more or less exactly how he expected it to be. Rainy, dark, and cold, most of the time. Matt can't say he's especially fond of the rain. Not after—

He shakes his head and yanks the fridge open.

Despite that, he can't say he misses America. He doesn't. He still has nightmares about it, about the ghetto and the prison and the pills. Blessedly, he stopped pissing blood years ago. 

But he still can't sleep. And at twenty-five, he still feels as fragile as he did at eighteen. Nothing changes, he thinks, digging out a container of leftover macaroni salad. Nothing ever changes.

Light still looms over them like the blade of a guillotine, waiting to drop at any moment. Only he's not Light anymore, he's Kira. Light is a man, and Kira is a God. Matt doesn't believe in God. He can't say he ever did, honestly.

His chair creaks as he sits down, and he pushes some of the paper piled on his desk aside to find a fork. It's used, but he can't be bothered to wash any dishes. 

Jesus, what would Naomi think?

Matt shovels a mouthful of salad into his mouth and types in a few access codes. The administration page for the prison pops up. He sets the plastic tub aside and sets to work. 

It's become more habit than anything else now, to check through their database for anything useful. The firewall and proxies had been easy to navigate through, and once he'd dug his way in, he had no problem popping in nearly daily to check. 

Death reports, case files, new arrival intakes. 

Light may have been the God of this world but his tech team sucked asshole. 

Matt grab his pack of smokes and clicks on the new patient intake list. More kids, young ones, more political prisoners. He scans through it then copies the list and forwards it to Lidner. 

He lights up his smoke and inhales, mouse hovering over the death reports. Sometimes, he doesn't want to know. Sometimes, he wonders if ignorance really is bliss.

He's never seen Mello's name. 

He's spotted his own name on it, marked as a presumed dead but status unknown, eighteen year old him pale, wide eyed and scared.

But Mello....

Matt taps the ash off his cigarette and clicks.

The lists get longer and longer every day. Almost everyone he knew then is gone. He clicks on each name, memorizes their faces, wonders why he made it and they didn't.

Why did they die, and he got a second chance?

Naomi said he had survivor's guilt. It's common. It happens. She told him he didn't need to be guilty, that she understood. She had felt the same way when the fiancé was executed during Kira's purge of the US government.

Matt thinks that's bullshit.

Once Naomi had gotten him out of the States, L had taken him in as an employee, giving him an apartment and as many high powered computers as he asked for. Find information, L had told him, hunched in his bedroom doorway as he wired the towers together. He wanted to destroy Kira from the inside out.

Matt isn't sure it's working, but he keeps going.

Mello had died for this. Mello had died to get him out. He had to keep trying.

On his desk, his phone vibrates loudly and he grabs it, pressing the talk button before wedging it back between his ear and shoulder.

"Tell me you have good news."

It's Linda.

Matt makes a face and clicks the death reports shut, reluctantly bringing the firewall back up.

"I just told you that I'm not a magician."

"I'll take that as a no."

"Smart girl," Matt grins at the audibly frustrated sigh, shovelling another mouthful of salad into his mouth, mostly because he knows it'll irritate her, "Okay, listen, I'm trying. Is Roger on you?"

"Of course," Linda says, "And don't talk with your mouth full, it's gross."

"Whatever, look, tell him I'm working on it. This is a government site. I'm kind of being cautious here. If they catch me, we could really be in trouble."

"Trouble how?" Linda sighs again, "London's safe. He can't get us here."

Sometimes, Matt wishes he could be as naive as Linda. Her ignorance _is_ bliss, and he rolls his eyes and stabs his fork into the mound of macaroni.

"You don't know that."

"L's protecting us."

"He's one dude, Linda."

She huffs, "I'm not arguing with you about this, Matt. Just get it done before Roger calls back tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

He hangs up before she can get mad about his tone, glaring at the coding on the screen and the little box flashing for password entry. It should, feasibly, be a piece of cake. He'd plowed through this stuff before. But regardless, he hesitates, even though he knows Linda is sort of right. The most they'd do is lock him out, change the codes, and maybe send him back the nasty worm virus he'd sent them.

Nothing he couldn't handle.

London is the safest city in the world, one of the few havens untouched by Light's influence. It's a bastion in a storm of shit. The only other city like it was somewhere in Central Africa, deep in the jungle.

But their safety isn't guaranteed in any regard. Light had his fair share of threats and he'd even bombed the outer edges of the city as a warning. That had been a pretty shitty night. Matt stares at the screen then glances at the rubber duck perched between two of his monitors.

"Don't you judge me."

He pushes back hard from his desk and slides across the room to his bed. He needs a break. A nap, or something mindless. He flops face first into his mattress and shuts his eyes tight.

It can wait.

* * *

When Matt wakes up again, it's dark outside his window. He lays on stomach, face pressed to his blanket for a long time, somewhere between awake and asleep. He hears his phone ringing a few times, but he chooses to ignore it.

At some point, it starts to rain, pattering quietly against his window. He doesn't really register the change at first, but when he does he thinks of Mello, grinning about their new-found, albeit short-lived, freedom. Mello with his uneven haircut, and his bright blue eyes.

It isn't right.

Matt supposes he must drift off or something because when he sits up it seems a lot later. It's still raining but the other familiar sounds from outside his window have gone quiet, and he pushes himself into a sitting position before scrubbing at his hair. He grabs his phone off his desk on his way to the bathroom to pee and scans through his missed calls. Three from Linda, one from Roger and a text from Naomi.

So the usual, basically.

Matt sighs and sheds his pants instead of zipping them up and goes back to the computer.

He cracks the firewall just before dawn.

It’s kind of a hollow accomplishment, but he texts Linda (mostly to spite her) and goes to make coffee. He sits on his bed for most of the morning, legs tucked up to his chest, sipping so slowly at his coffee that it goes cold before he finishes it. Matt feels bad wasting it, so he drinks it all even though it tastes like shit. 

Linda shows up at just past ten in the morning. She looks as put together as usual, her blond hair yanked into a half ponytail. 

"Jesus, this place is a disaster."

Matt shrugs and lets her in, "It's a genius nest. Shut up."

She rolls her eyes and slips her tennis shoes off. He takes her to the living room because his room is absolutely off limits. She sinks into his couch, and it groans threateningly under her weight.

"So you got in?"

"Yup."

"And?"

Matt shrugs. Linda huffs at him.

"There isn't anything we didn't know on there already. It's all the same shit. Nothing worth it, but I forwarded the information to Roger. You can stop babysitting me."

"Shut up. I'm only harassing you because he's harassing me," she folds her arms across her chest and watches him for a moment, "... they rescued another prison kid."

Matt's eyes shift from his hands to her, "What?"

Linda fidgets idly with a ring on her index finger, "Yeah. In America. Same prison where they found you. They're bringing him back. Lidner left two days ago."

"... How is that even possible?" Matt tries not to be hopeful. He really does. But Mello isn't on those death lists. It could be him. It really could be, "Who's funnelling us the info?"

Watari is long since gone. Light had him publicly executed almost immediately after he escaped. It had been a televised death by firing squad. 

Linda shrugs and doesn't look at him. Matt doesn't want to press too much, but he's so curious it hurts. It makes him almost sick to his stomach. It could be Mello. He could have survived. 

But then again, it could not be Mello.

Or it could be him, but not really. He knows plenty of their rescues. So many of them arrived broken beyond repair, physically crippled and mentally destroyed. Matt is one of their luckier ones. 

"I wasn't supposed to tell you."

Matt isn't surprised by that. People in their group liked to see him as skittish. He lifts his eyes from his palm to fix Linda with a look. She meets his gaze. 

"Then why did you?"

"Because. I thought you deserved to know. What if you know them?"

Mello, Matt's brain says, it has to be. He had survived. He had gotten out now, and he was on his way to them. He's never really been an optimist but it's hard to temper the hopeful feeling unwinding in his chest. 

But if it is Mello, that would mean he'd been stuck in that prison for the last seven years. That he'd endured that Hell for nearly a decade. That hopeful feeling shrivels at the implications of that, and Matt turns away from Linda.

It would be better if he were dead. If they'd shot him that night.

Seven years in there.

Linda's hand touches his arm, and Matt flinches. She hesitates before she stands up.

"Come on. We should go to the compound. L's going to be there. You can see for yourself if you know them."

Matt supposes he'd have to know for sure eventually.

* * *

Matt has never really liked L's compound. It's mostly underground, hidden beneath a run-of-the-mill office building upstairs. The lower levels are all cold steel and cement, and it reminds him way too much of the prison, more than he's comfortable admitting.

Linda leads him to one of the common meeting areas. Lidner is already there waiting, thumbing through a newspaper and sipping at coffee. She raises her eyes when they come in and immediately frowns. L is also there, hunched in a chair near her, same baggy clothes and messy hair as always, and he smiles at them. It's an unusual contrast to Lidner's less than impressed expression.

"Oh, you brought Matt along," he says, reaching out to grab his own mug of what might be tea. He sips at it and then sets it down, "Good work last night. Getting inside that firewall took you no time at all. I'm impressed. Have you learned anything valuable?"

Matt shrugs, "Not really."

L hums thoughtfully and bites idly at his thumbnail, "Oh. Hmm, that's too bad. Well, no matter. I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss that. You're interested in our new recruit."

Matt wonders if he's always this transparent, or if L is just good at reading people. Linda nudges him with her elbow before she settles into a chair by Lidner. They fall into easy conversation and Matt tunes them out. Eventually, he lets himself sit too, despite the uneasy twist in his gut that's making him more than a little restless. 

What if it is Mello?

Matt can't say exactly what he would do. It would be a relief, that's for sure, and he tries not to fidget as he waits. L is silent, expression mostly unreadable.

After what feels like an eternity, Naomi comes in. She's carrying a stack of folders, and she sets them down on the table by Lidner. The prison's newest escapee shuffles along after her, and Matt feels his throat close over. 

That's not possible. It can't be.

Standing in the doorway, blinking big, dark eyes and twisting a loose piece of hair around his finger, is Block Kid.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late.  
> I did mean to post this last week, but life got away from me before I could finish editing it. I should hopefully be back to something resembling a posting schedule but things are kind of hectic for me lately, and I don't want to make any promises. But fingers crossed.
> 
> As usual, eternal thanks to Greenmage128 for giving this an additional beta read today.
> 
> also, again, thank you everyone for your kind words and kudos. It literally puts a smile on my face every time and I need that these days. So, thank you, I mean that.

Matt feels like he can't breathe.

He may not actually be able to. He doesn't know anymore. He's glad he's sitting down at least. His knees feel kind of weak. He always thought that was something that only happened in the movies. Distantly, he can hear Naomi introducing the kid. He thinks she says his name is Near, but he can't really tell over the sound of his own heart hammering against his ribs.

How did he get out but not Mello?

It's a mistake. It has to be. It has to be a mistake. Or he's dreaming, still asleep face first in his blanket.

Even after seven years, it's easy for him to be back in that place, too tired and drugged up to want to fight. It's easy to be back in that cell, or in the common room, surrounded by people who were suffering from resisting.

Near had been one of those people. Near had been basically catatonic most of the time they'd talked.

Matt swallows hard and tries to refocus himself. Near hasn't taken his eyes off him, and the people in the room are starting to notice the almost tense silence between them.

"Do you two know each other?"

Of course it's Linda. Bless her ignorance. Bless her and her good intentions.

Matt nods a little, "You could say that."

"It's good to see you, Matt."

Near still talks like a robot, and Matt wishes he could say the same. He doesn't want to see Near. He's glad he's out, but—

"Yeah. You too."

"I was wondering if I would see you again. They said you died in those woods, but nobody could be sure."

Of course they couldn't. The guards only said those things to discourage others from trying the same thing, to make it seem like something impossible and scary, too big to accomplish. He supposes it worked. Nobody had escaped since him. Or not anyone that they knew of.

"How did you even get here?"

"I was found," Block Kid—Near—says as he eases into a seat, "In the woods."

"Gevanni," Lidner supplies, sipping at her coffee, "We've kept him nearby, just in case. With Watari gone..."

Matt looks away from her at some nondescript point on the table. He's sure that Mello didn't give anyone up, but if Near had been right all those years ago, then it explained everything. How they knew where they'd be, how they got to Watari. That left very little hope for Mello. Matt hates that he even has hope again. He had given up on it seven years ago, and nothing had changed. He shakes his head and rises to his feet. He still feels sort of wobbly.

"Look, I'd... I would love to sit and chat about this with you, but I have work to do. So, I'll just see you around."

Near's dark eyes remain on him, watching, and Matt feels something uncomfortable prickling the back of his neck. Everyone else is throwing him odd looks, and it takes all his restraint not to sprint out of the room. Near really hasn't changed, and Matt doesn't know why that bothers him.

* * *

Matt goes home and hacks back into the prison site the second he's inside.

Near's file isn't too hard to find. He's a year younger than he is, and his status is marked unknown, presumed dead. The same as his file. Matt purses his lips and starts searching.

There's about twenty or so prisoners with that status, people who had managed to get out. Escape didn't guarantee safety. It didn't guarantee anything, not even survival. The woods were immense, deep and dark, and the city was miles away from them, so even if you did manage to navigate the way out, it didn't mean shit.

Matt doesn't know why he wants to see this.

The list of names are unfamiliar. He doesn't know these people, any of them. They're all strangers, and he resists the urge to look at them. For once, he doesn't want to know them. He isn't there for them.

Mello isn't on the list though.

It's like he's just gone, and Matt drops his forehead into his hands, propping his elbows against his desk. He feels sick, obsessed over chasing a ghost. Mello is a ghost.

_I'll come back for you._

Those were the last words he'd ever said to him. He had promised him, and he hadn't. Guilt uncurls white hot and familiar in his chest, wraps around his throat and his ribs. He inhales deeply and shuts his eyes. His email client dings, and there's a message from L waiting for him, asking him to find some information on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. At the bottom is an 'Are you okay?' Matt hates himself, briefly, because how transparent is he, how obvious? He fires back a 'Sure,' and throws in an, 'I'm fine,' for good measure. L doesn't reply, and Matt doesn't expect him to. L knows he's not fine, but he won't push. He never does.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs is distinctly dull section of the government server and network. The break-in isn't even that hard, which makes Matt worry in the back of his mind. Nothing is ever easy with Light. It's always one step forward, two steps back. But he gets in with no issue, which either means it's a trap of some sort, or Light has gotten sloppy.

He finds the files he's looking for, some documentation on their current status with other foreign countries and the rebellions currently starting up in Germany and France. It's a little more detailed than what's been given on the news, but only barely, so Matt just forwards the information directly to L and closes out.

He's just about to take another nap when his phone starts ringing. The call screen display reads L, and he makes a face at it before answering.

"What now?"

"That was very quick."

Matt sits back down and sighs, "So? I'm good at my job."

"No," L sounds thoughtful. He hates it when he sounds like that, "this is something else. You weren't being traced, were you?"

"No," he can't tell if he's insulted or not, "I wasn't being traced. And even if I was, I'm out now, and it's a dead line. They can't find me. Besides, Light can't come to—"

"I assure you, he can," L says, and his tone is serious, "Do you have any other open links?"

"No, I—" Matt pauses, "Well, maybe."

"Where?"

He feels vaguely like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "Well, the prison database. It's not exactly... they can't trace me through it, but I have a foxhole in."

The silence on the other line is deafening. L sighs, "I'm sending a car for you. Bring what you need."

Then the line clicks dead.

* * *

 L isn't there when he gets back to the compound.

In fact, the whole place seems surprisingly empty, except for Near, who has a puzzle spread out on the floor in front of the TV. There's no hints as to when they'll be back, either. Matt makes a face, switches the channel to some American propaganda news station and gets comfortable on the couch behind Near, who barely acknowledges him. But that's not really strange. His level of concentration would put a meditating monk to shame.

Matt can feel himself zoning out. He doesn't even know how long L will want him to stay. He should have brought an overnight bag or something. Clean underwear, at least. The TV is a nice sort of background noise, until the reporter brings up rioting in downtown Manhattan. Matt starts to pay attention then, though he isn't entirely sure why he bothers. For the most part, he found the riots and rebellions stupid. They're a waste of time, and more often than not, they ended in violence and lengthy prison terms. But he supposes they give people hope, make them believe maybe if they push hard enough, it would matter in the grand scheme of things. Even though it never did.

They show several shots of the crowd, of their signs, and they all seem like normal, average people. Matt doesn't know why he expected something else. When they reach the front of the crowd, the cameras take their time hovering over each person. It's like they're being analyzed, carefully catalogued for further investigation. They probably are. Light doesn't take kindly to disobedience, especially if it's enough to make the news. Matt doesn't really pay much attention to the faces on the screen. He doesn't really see the point. They're as good as dead anyway. He wonders if any of them realize that, and if they do, why don't they care?

He glances up again just as the cameras start to hover over a man in a dark jacket. His eyes are shadowed by the hood, but there are wisps of blond hair sticking out of the bottom. It's more precaution than most people there were taking, and it seems odd. It's too calculated, almost like—

"Holy shit."

Near looks up from his toys and games, and turns properly to look at him. He's frowning. Matt only looks at him for a split second before he looks back to the TV, like if he turns away for too long, the man on the screen will disappear. He's not even sure that he's not hallucinating it all anyway.

"That's Mello."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends
> 
> i feel so bad that this is so super late.  
> and because it is so super late, i've gone ahead and posted chapter 9 as well. i'm hoping i'll be able to post chapter 10 on monday.  
> fingers crossed.
> 
> thanks to greenmage128 again for beta'ing this chapter & chapter 9. you're amazing. i suck. yup.

"You don't know that it's him."

Matt makes a face. He might even roll his eyes. They're staring at a print of Mello from the news broadcast earlier, and the more he looks at it, the more he's sure of who it is. He's never been so sure of anything before.

"It's Mello."

Lidner sighs. L looks to her for a moment before back to him, "You know they have facial recognition running in the background. He may not even be in that city anymore."

"So, what? I just don't try?"

"I didn't say that," L leans forward to grab a candy out of the dish on the table, "I'm saying you're being very careless for something that is statistically impossible. Or at least very unlikely."

"I scrambled their cameras," Matt says, and L pauses, candy halfway to his mouth, "I mean, when they try to run the software, they won't get his name. I corrupted all the images they took from the protest."

"Really?" L pops the caramel into his mouth, "and that seemed like the best course of action?"

"I'm not hurting anything—"

"That you know of," L says, "Actions do have consequences."

"Look, I'm going. What do you care if I die?"

Lidner rolls her eyes, "We care about what's in that brain of yours. You've been to prison. You know what it's like. Once they find out you've worked with L, they're going to rip into your head and get what they want. That puts all of us in danger."

"You feel responsible, and we can respect that," L says, "But this is too great a risk to take for just one person."

Matt stands so abruptly that he almost knocks his chair over, "Mello almost died for me. I'm going to go get him. With or without your help."

L's lips quirk into a smile, "So you're done asking for permission? You'd rather beg for my forgiveness?"

"I was never asking."

L's smile widens, and he grabs another candy. Behind them, there's a clatter of wooden puzzle pieces hitting the floor, and Matt turns back to see Near, holding the frame for the puzzle upside down, tiles scattered across the floor.

"It's Mello," he says, "in that photo. He's the one who told me where to go in the vents. He went out about a month before I did."

Matt opens his mouth to say something, but Lidner cuts him off before he can, "Okay, so assuming this is Mello, how are you going to find him, exactly? How are you even going to get into the country? You're not a citizen."

"You got me out," Matt says, "Get me back in."

"It doesn't work like that."

Except he knows it can. Gevanni travelled between the US and England all the time. Lidner sighs, and Matt thinks he sees her rolling her eyes at him. He doesn't blame her. He'd probably do the same if he were her.

But he isn't, and this involves Mello, and he owes him at least an attempt.

* * *

Getting out of London had been easy.

Getting in to New York had been considerably more complicated. He crossed into Spain first then flown to the US. Passengers from the UK were sent back from JFK without question.

But as far as the sleepy-eyed immigration guard knows, he's an American born citizen coming back from a vacation to Europe. And even though he hasn't been given much of a second glance, he can't help but sweat at every person who scopes out his passport, like they'll be able to see it's a forgery. He trusts Naomi's abilities, but these people are supposedly trained to see the even the smallest flaws. He gets through security with no real problems though, just a few questions about his trip and if he had anything to declare.

Gevanni is waiting for him in a town car outside, and they make the short trip to the dilapidated brownstone L calls a safe house. Gevanni doesn't hang around either. He just drops him off and drives away. It's weird, in a way, how much and how little has changed since he was last in the city. His phone doesn't even work.

Matt feels unnervingly cut off from everything.

Thankfully, the cafe down the street is close enough that he can mooch off their Wi-Fi, and once he's sure everything is secure on his laptop, he sends L a quick email to let him know he's alive.

The reply comes almost instantly.

'Good. Keep it that way.'

He rolls his eyes and sets to work finding Mello.

* * *

Light's facial recognition software is surprisingly easy to imitate. It's all algorithms and number sequences. Hacking into his cameras is even easier, and it doesn't take him long to have eyes on nearly the entire sprawl of the city.

He traces Mello's movements after the rally on the street cams to the subway, but he loses him after that. Matt's not surprised. Mello would cover his tracks as best he could. But it's still frustrating.

Matt risks going out only when necessary, and he keeps his hood up and pays for everything in crumpled American bills. The networks here are too fragile and unsecured to really do much of anything in the way of protection, though he tries his best to stay off anyone's radar, both online and in-person. But even running the searches on the camera is unbearably risky, and he knows he's raised a few red flags somewhere. So far, the world hasn't come crashing down around him, so he supposes a few unusual search criteria aren't enough to warrant further investigation.

He tries searching the subway Mello vanished into, but it's a dead end. He doesn't want to be found, and Matt knows the clock is ticking. Gevanni would pick him up in two weeks and get him out. After that, he's done. He can't risk a re-entry, and he knows it.

Matt gives up on sleep.

But after nearly a week, there doesn't seem to be any viable trace of Mello. It's like he's a ghost again, like he had just disappeared into thin air.

Matt wishes there was a way to tell Mello that it's him, that it's okay to come out, but he knows anything like that will put them both in too much danger. His passport may have a fake name on it, but they still have a record of him, and he can't get rid of it. He's tried. The files are heavily encrypted and removing them would definitely get someone's attention somewhere. Even in London it's a risky move he doesn't care to test out.

It's just past two AM when Matt sees him. The facial recognition software dings to alert him, waking him up from the half-doze he'd fallen into while staring intently at his screen. For a second, he doubts its Mello. It can't be this easy, after all the waiting and searching, but it has to be him. The camera that he's in front of isn't far away, but he knows he'll never catch him. So Matt follows him on the cameras until he disappears into a subway station, then he finds him when he pops back up several blocks away. Matt keeps on him until he goes into a newer looking brownstone.

This may be his only chance, and he knows it. Mello has the ability to disappear for long stretches. It's been nearly a week since he appeared at the march. Every time Mello goes out, it's an immense risk, but he's always been sort of fearless in that regard. Matt wonders if Mello isn't paranoid enough, or if he's just too paranoid.

(Who is he kidding, he's a coward.)

Matt goes anyway. He sits across the street and smokes through a pack of cigarettes, head angled away from the cameras so all they get is his hood. He had thought about scrambling them for this block, but he knows what kind of suspicion that would raise.

He waits for what feels like hours before the door finally opens, and Mello steps outside onto the stoop. He says something back over one shoulder before the door shuts behind him. Slowly, Matt stands up. All that separates them is a street. After everything, all that's between them is a stretch of concrete, and he thinks maybe he should call his name. It's way too dangerous, and he's not sure he could make his mouth work anyway, even if he wanted it to.

So when Mello starts to walk, he follows. Matt figures he can catch up in the subway, maybe on the train.

In reality, they only go about a block and a half before Mello stops and turns around. For a split second, Matt wonders if he should try and hide. Maybe duck behind a building.

But, really, it's too late for that now.

Something like surprise passes over Mello's face. Then he frowns, even though his posture relaxes a little. The tension in his shoulders seems to fade, like he's relieved at what he's seeing, even if he doesn't really believe it. His eyes are impossibly bright, and blue, and they pin him where he stands.

"...Matt?"

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you greenmage128 for beta'ing this chapter as well as the previous one.  
> ily friend.

"...Matt?"

Matt knows he should do more than just stand there like a big dummy. So he lifts a hand and waves. Mello just looks at him.

"Hey."

There's still a sizeable gap between them, one that Mello closes. His hair has grown out properly, and he has a new scar stretching across his eye and down his neck. Matt can see it ends by his wrist, peeking out from his shirt sleeve.

What had they done to him?

"Jesus, what are you doing here? They said you were dead," Mello says, "That the guards got you and put two in your head. You're dead."

Matt isn't surprised. But something sick and hollow still settles in his stomach. This is what he thought would happen. They found a weak point, and they went after it. They couldn't just be happy with hurting him on the outside. They had to try and break him down completely and totally, in every way a person could be broken.

Mello looks like he doesn't quite want to believe what's in front of him, and Matt can't blame him for that. Somehow, despite what they'd done to him, he'd survived in that place. He probably thinks this is a dream. Or this is them playing games with him. Matt steps a little closer, and Mello doesn't move. He's not sure how he is, really. That place had physically damaged him... How bad had it messed with his head though?

"I'm not dead," he knows that should be obvious now, and he wonders if hearing it gives him any kind of reassurance, "I wasn't going to just show up like this, but I... I didn't know how else to get in touch with you without being caught by someone."

Even this is dangerous, and Matt glances toward the camera across the street, trained on them in a way that raises the hairs on his neck. He bites his lip, and Mello frowns at him.

"Have you been in New York this whole time?"

Matt shakes his head, "No. Look, I have somewhere safe. Can we—"

He doesn't know what to do with his hands. It's a weird thing to have a problem with, but he doesn't know if they should go in his pockets, or if he should leave them by his sides, or if he should just tuck them under his armpits because it's cold as hell. Mello doesn't seem to pick up on how awkward he's become, which is a bit of a relief.

"Yeah," he says, "I don't have anywhere to be right now."

They weren't like this before, Matt thinks, as he starts to lead Mello toward the safe house. Even in the beginning, there had been this instant sense of trust, of safety together, and Matt can't say he doesn't trust this Mello, he just can't say he knows him. He's a stranger, more so than he was back all those years ago. And maybe that's what's making him so uncomfortable. He's not sure.

"How did you even find me?" Mello asks, falling into step beside him, "If you weren't in New York."

"The news protest," Matt says, "I saw you on TV."

"Oh," Mello looks down, goes quiet, the silence tense, "Where have you been?"

Matt glances sideways at him, "...London."

Mello doesn't ask any more questions, and Matt feels guilty almost immediately. He should have ignored Naomi and gone after him. He glances sideways at Mello quickly and tries to ignore the scar glaring back at him. If he had gone to get him, that wouldn't have happened. Mello must feel him staring because he looks back at him, and Matt looks away again.

Once they're inside the safe house, Matt lets himself relax a bit more. Mello looks around wordlessly for a moment before he slips off his boots.

"So you're working with L? That must be nice."

"Nice isn't the word I'd use."

Matt knows he owes him his life. But the dude is still a pain in the ass and a bit of a dick. Mello hums and wanders further into the house. Matt follows.

"Do you think he can do it?"

"Stop Light, you mean?"

"Yeah," Mello looks back at him, "Do you think he can?"

"I don't know," he admits, "I know he's trying. But I'm starting to think no one will."

"I will," Mello says, and for a moment, Matt believes it, believes him, "I'm going to stop him."

Matt frowns as Mello moves past him and into the tiny living room. He still has his laptop open on the table, though he's logged out of everything. He's paranoid, and he likes to think it's for a good reason. He's still technically a fugitive.

Mello looks around before his eyes land back on him. Matt sits himself down on the couch and thinks as much as he may miss New York sometimes, he'll be happy once he's back in London. Mello doesn't seem willing to relax and get comfortable. He's just as restless as he was back in the prison. He hates to admit it, but in this case, he's sort of relieved that some things never change.

They fall into this tense, awkward silence, and Matt decides then that he misses Mello. It makes no sense. They're back together, but it still feels like they're miles apart.

"We found Near."

Mello snorts dismissively, "Of course you did."

Matt looks at him, and Mello shakes his head and doesn't elaborate. That silence sinks in around them again, and Matt fidgets idly with a loose thread on the bottom of his shirt. He's never been much of a small talker.

"Is he okay?"

Mello breaks the silence this time, and Matt looks away from his computer monitor. He's not even sure when he started staring at it, and after a second, he shrugs. Near seems fine, or as good as can be expected, considering.

"I tried to get more out," Mello tells him, "Near is the only one who wanted to listen to anything I had to say. The guards told everyone I killed you."

Matt frowns, "You killed me?"

"Yeah, I corrupted you and made you crazy. That's why you broke out, and why they had to shoot you. Apparently I did it by seducing you. We were having a love affair. Didn't you know?"

Matt nearly chokes on his own saliva, "Excuse me?"

Mello grins. Matt's pretty sure he wants the couch to open up and devour him, so he leans back and slumps down a bit, rubbing a hand through his hair. That only makes Mello laugh at him, which only makes him feel more stupid. He didn't think that was even possible.

"You are actually the worst human being ever."

"I'm serious!" Mello says, finally plunking down next to him on the worn couch. He slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in. He smells faintly like leather and something else familiar and old, "That's what they said. They called me a harlot."

"You are a harlot," Matt grumbles, and Mello makes a face, "You're a great big whore, and I don't like you."

"Prude," Mello sniffs, unwinding his arm. Matt immediately misses it, which is weird. Why would that be what pops into his head? Mello's smile falters a little after a moment, and he sits up a bit. Matt doesn't know why the mood has changed so drastically, and he doesn't quite know how to fix it. Maybe it can't be fixed. Maybe nothing could.

Matt isn't really sure when he became such a pessimist.

The silence that sits with them is uncomfortable. Matt fidgets. Mello clicks away at a battered blackberry for a few minutes before he tucks it back into his pant pocket. They're leather, Matt realizes belatedly. Mello has really nice thighs.

"I have to go," he says, standing up, and Matt's eyes snap from his legs up to his face, "I'll be in touch."

"Go? Go where?"

"I have work to do," Mello says vaguely, "I said I'd be in touch."

"I'm leaving soon," Matt tells him, getting up to follow him out of the living room, "I'm going back to London."

Mello stops and looks back at him. He sighs and then bends to put his boots back on, "I just have some loose ends to tie up. I'll contact you."

"Mello—"

"You can watch me, can't you? On the cameras?" He straightens and smooths his shirt down. Matt nods, "Good. Do that. That's what I need from you right now."

"Yeah, but—"

"Do you trust me?"

The question is like a swift kick to the guts. Matt opens his mouth to say something, but he realizes he doesn't know what that is. So he just nods mutely and tries to swallow past the bad feeling. Mello smiles, but it's kind of forced. It's like one of Near's smiles. That makes him feel worse.

"Thank you."

"Be careful," Matt says as Mello opens the front door and steps outside, "And come back soon."

His response is silence and the door shutting behind Mello's back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay another chapter and its relatively on time. I was going to post this yesterday night, but I totally passed out while editing. which makes the whole process surprisingly difficult,
> 
> Thanks to Margaret for beta'ing, as per usual. you are literally amazing.

Matt watches the cameras like a hawk.

Mello vanishes into the subway station near the safe house. He loses him after that, but he keeps watching, late into the night, until it's hard to keep his eyes open. He's tired, but he knows he won't sleep. He can't. Mello needs his help. And he's a borderline insomniac.

All he can do now is wait and watch. Mello had said he would be in touch, but when, and how, is something Matt can't be sure of. A day? A week? Longer? He should have given Mello his phone number or something. But that probably wouldn't have done much to help things. His reception is shit here.

The other issue is that he can't keep the recognition software going for very long. Every hour that it's on increases the likelihood of someone noticing the unusual search parameters and investigating.

It's just after dawn that he switches it off and resorts to manually scanning the screen. The streets are basically empty anyway. But it's still tedious, and he eventually has to take a break to pee and have some coffee.

Morning sunshine is filtering through the breaks in the heavy curtains over every window, and there's a stillness to the house that is unsettling. It feels like the calm before a storm, like when the ocean pulls away from the shore before a tsunami. Matt stands in the doorway to the living room and sips his coffee and tries not to worry.

A cursory glance at the screen causes him to pause. There's a person, walking down the street toward the house, hood drawn up. He's wearing leather pants though, and that's all that Matt needs. He puts his coffee down and goes outside.

"Mello?"

The person lifts his head and sure enough, it's him. He looks worried. He looks almost panic-stricken, and Matt isn't sure why.

"Get back inside," he says once he's close enough, herding him back into the brownstone before shutting the door hard behind himself. He flips his hood down and moves further inside, and Matt isn't quite sure what's happening; "How quickly can you pack all this up?"

"What?"

"You have to go," Mello tells him firmly, "They know you're here."

"Who does?"

Mello comes back over to him and grabs his arm, dragging him into the living room, "Pack this shit up. Now. We're leaving."

"Mello—"

"Now!"

Matt opens his mouth to argue again, but he doesn't, instead setting to work on taking everything apart, tucking things back into his laptop bag. Mello vanishes from his sight, but he can hear him in the kitchen, rummaging around, presumably packing up what little food he'd bought. He reappears a moment later and goes to the curtains, peeking out them before he turns back to him.

"How much longer?"

Matt shakes his head and zips the bag shut, "I'm almost done."

"Go faster," Mello snaps before he vanishes again. There's a thud to the left of him, and Matt looks to see his boots lying beside him, "Do you trust me?"

Matt doesn't say anything. He just shoves more of his cables into the front pocket of his laptop bag and zips it shut. Mello doesn't ask him again, and Matt finishes up a few minutes later. Mello is back in the kitchen, talking into that battered Blackberry, though he hangs up when Matt comes in.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah. But I don't—"

All at once, there's a sharp knocking at the door, and both of them fall completely silent. Then Mello curses and looks around. There's a back door that leads to a small yard, and Mello eyes it for a second or two before he moves for it. Matt follows on instinct, just as the front door bangs open.

"Don't look back," Mello says back to him, "Just run."

Then he takes off running.

The laptop bag is sort of heavy, and Matt has to struggle to keep up with Mello as he goes for the fence. He scales it without any problem, and Matt only hesitates for a moment before he tries to do the same. He's just about to drop down the other side when a hand grabs onto his foot and starts to pull.

"Stop!"

Like hell, Matt thinks, scrabbling to keep on the fence. He flails a little and feels his foot connect with something solid. Then he's tumbling into the other yard, landing in a heap on the cement. Mello drags him up, and pain shoots through his ankle as he goes after him.

They burst through the gate and out into the street. Mello keeps pulling him along, weaving down one alley and then another until they reach the subway station. The platform is blessedly empty, and Mello looks around quickly, like he's searching for something.

"Trust me," he tells him, forcing open one of the gates that leads to the tracks, "And stay close behind me."

Then he's slipping off down the narrow walkway next to the tracks. Matt looks over one shoulder before following, shutting the gate behind him. The sound of voices echo behind them before a train rumbles past and drowns it out. The force of it going past nearly knocks Matt off his feet, and he distantly hears Mello yelling back at him. Then his hand is on his, steadying him, squeezing tight.

"Come on."

* * *

They walk for what feels like hours, Mello's hand on his, his laptop bag bouncing against his hip, pain sparking up his ankle enough that he falls into a kind of pathetic limp. They stop every time a train rolls past them and eventually, they reach an alcove. There's a chain link fence across it and Mello fiddles with the lock over it for a few moments before the gate swings open.

"So this is how you disappear," Matt says, dumping his bag down as Mello closes the gate behind him, "How did you know they were coming?"

"I got a tip," Mello says, clicking the padlock shut, "That the police heard a fugitive had entered the country through JFK and was staying in the city. They said they were armed and dangerous. I almost didn't think it was you. You're hardly armed and dangerous."

"I'm totally dangerous."

Mello looks back at him and resumes walking, leaving him to follow. His ankle protests a little, but he manages to keep up with him.

"You're delicate. Always have been."

"I'm not delicate."

Mello glances down at his ankle then back up at him. He raises an eyebrow. Matt huffs and resists the urge to flip him the bird.

Smug asshole.

They walk in silence after that, surrounded by the quiet scurry of rodents and this distant dripping sound. A faint light ahead of them gets brighter the longer they walk before the tunnel eventually gives way to a bigger area filled with tents and people. It looks like an old train platform. Matt can see tracks, blocked off with a thin strip of police tape. There's an escalator that goes to a second floor but the exit is filled in with cement. There are tents up there, too.

"What the hell is this place?"

Mello doesn't answer. He's watching a bigger bald man walk toward them. Mello's expression is more closed off than Matt's ever seen it, and he's not sure why that makes him uncomfortable.

"This the guy you had to go rescue?" The man says, "Don't look like much."

"Matt," Mello looks back at him, then nods toward the other man, "This is Rod Ross. He's the current acting head of the mafia."

Rod is still appraising him, from the way he's favouring his ankle to his laptop bag, still slung over one shoulder, to the scrape on his elbow from his fall. Matt wishes he looked a little more intimidating. Rod's a pretty big—

"Wait. Mafia?"

He feels like he clued in on that too late. Mello rolls his eyes. Rod smiles at him, like he's some kind of dog who just did a particularly amusing trick. Matt's not sure he likes the expression, and he opens his mouth to snip something back, but Mello has his wrist and is pulling him away.

"I'm just going to check his ankle, and then we can talk, okay? I'll be there soon."

Rod doesn't seem to want to argue. He just watches them go. Mello pulls him into the one of the tents and shoves him down onto the air mattress. It squeaks under his weight.

"The mafia? What the hell, Mello?"

"Not all of us had the luxury of being scooped up by L, okay?"

Matt opens his mouth to say something but finds he has nothing. Mello falls silent too, kneeling down to yank the boot off his foot. Matt has to bite down on his tongue, though he's considerably gentler taking his sock off. Mello's hands are cool as they wrap around his ankle.

"Does that hurt?" he asks, and Matt shakes his head. Then he rotates it, and he flinches, "But that does."

"Yeah. A bit."

"It doesn't feel broken," he says, letting go and sitting back, "Probably just twisted. Stay off it for a few days and you should be fine."

Matt watches him as he stands up, follows him as he moves around the tent, peeling off his shirt first to slip on a clean one. He makes an effort to look away from the stretch of Mello's back, from the scar that reaches over his shoulder and down his entire arm.

"Is this the loose end that needed to be tied up?"

Mello looks back at him, "Don't start."

"I'm just asking."

Mello sighs and then goes to sit next to him, "Yeah. Rod doesn't want me to go. Says I'm the best bet at taking out Light."

"Isn't that nice of him."

"I didn't have any other options," Mello insists, sliding on another pair of looser fitting pants, "It was this or nothing."

Matt thinks then that nothing may be preferable, even though he knows that's not the case. Mello did what he had to do, and he can't blame him for that. But something about this whole thing makes him uneasy. Mello looks like he might try to explain, maybe say something to make him feel better, but he doesn't get the chance. The tent flap opens suddenly, and Rod is there. Matt resists the urge to make a face at him.

"You better come see this."

Then he's gone, and Mello is going out of the tent after him. Matt sits alone for all of two seconds before he's on his feet and hobbling after him, out into the main area. There's a tiny, battered TV with two tinfoil wrapped rabbit ears sticking up at awkward angles sitting on a milk carton, and it has his face on the screen.

It's the photo from his prison intake, and Matt stops mid-step to stare at it.

"What the hell?"

Rod chuckles, "Looks like they got you figured out. Smooth."

"Shut up," Mello snips, leaning forward to crank the dial for the volume up, "CNN?"

Matt's face fades from the screen and is replaced by Mello's photo. His skin is smooth, and his hair is short and cut evenly. He looks young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, and it makes Matt's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"What else?" Rod says, sinking into an old leather chair that looks likes it's seen better days, "That Takada bitch has been talking about you two for fifteen minutes. You're a celebrity, Mello."

Mello huffs as his image is removed and replaced with the newscaster. They show a shot of the brownstone, surrounded by police and surveillance in the top right corner, and Matt feels sick. How is Gevanni going to find him now?

"Looks like you're not going anywhere now," Rod laughs, "You're stuck."

Mello gives him a sideways glare before he turns sharply on one heel and storms off. Matt hobbles along after him, back into the tent. Mello has sat himself down on the edge of the air mattress and is staring intently at the floor. Matt hovers in the door before he sits next to him.

"Now what?"

"I don't know."

Matt purses his lips and looks down, "If you get me a secure connection, I can get in touch with L. Calling the old fashioned way on these lines is too risky, but if I—"

"You think you can do it?"

"I know I can."

Mello stands so abruptly that Matt sinks in the mattress. He grabs the laptop bag and thrusts it at him, "Then do it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Margaret for beta reading this for me.  
> And thank you to everyone who has left me a comment or given me a kudos. I'm sorry this is so late.

A secure line is surprisingly easy to tap into and isolate, but Matt still takes precautions. Mello watches him work, which is uncomfortable enough, but then Rod comes in and sits on his other side. Somehow, that makes it worse. He's not even sure that Rod knows who he's trying to communicate with, but between the two of them, he has little room for error. Thankfully, he's able to get one message out to L and Naomi.

_S.O.S. Send help. Matt._

He doesn't wait for a reply; he just disconnects and snaps the laptop shut. L probably already knew what kind of situation he'd gotten in to. It wouldn't be long until Gevanni sniffed them out.

But letting them know he isn't a lost cause can't hurt. Rod doesn't stay long after that, he just nods at Mello and slips out of the tent. The silence that lingers is thick and uncomfortable, and Mello fidgets with his phone for a minute or two before he looks up at him.

"You're really good at that."

Matt looks over at him. He's tired. It's a belated realization, but after everything that's happened, he feels burnt out and worn down. He wants a nap, so he flops sideways onto the mattress and ignores Mello's frown by shutting his eyes.

"Thank you."

"Rod was testing you," Mello tells him. Matt cracks an eye open, "What you can do. He was asking me before I came to get you, if you could be useful. I said I wasn't sure."

"Useful for what?"

"Rod wants to go after Light directly," he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket, "hit him where he'll hurt. He wants Sayu."

Matt opens his other eye, “Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's the only one we've got," Mello says, even though Matt's not sure if he believes him, "It'll show Light we're serious."

Matt doesn't think that's the message they'll send. The whole idea seems too hastily planned out to be successful, like they were all grasping at straws to find something that may do some good. But this is Light. He's two steps ahead of them and backed by not only nearly every government and police force but also by extreme amounts of firepower. Matt has a feeling that going after his little sister would be like kicking a hornet's nest barefoot.

"So why do you need me?"

"We don't know where she is."

Dread settles cold in his stomach, "Mello, man, we can't do this. If we start nosing around for info about her, it's gonna.... You think he wouldn't encode the data about his sister?"

"I have faith in you."

"Faith isn't worth shit," Matt says, shaking his head. He rolls onto his stomach and presses his forehead to his folded arms, "Don't ask me to do this. I can't do this."

Mello's hand settles on the small of his back, "You can."

Matt doesn't want to find comfort in that touch, but he does. It's small and fleeting, and he hates himself a little for it, "I can't."

He hates having to say no. But he knows it's not possible. Some things just can't be found, and any information about Sayu would be buried deep and heavily encoded. And even if they did find her, she probably had a police entourage fifty people deep.

Neither Mello nor Rod had thought this through. Not even a little.

Matt lifts his head to look at Mello when his hand slides away from his back. He's perched on the other end of the bed, looking at him like he expects something to change. He doesn't say anything for a few minutes but eventually, he sighs.

"All right. Forget it. I'll tell Rod no."

"Good."

Matt closes his eyes again, and he feels Mello's hand brush his hair back from his eyes. Then the air mattress squeaks, and he hears his footsteps, followed by the rasp of a zipper as Mello shuts him in the tent. Matt doesn't bother to move. He just lets himself drift off like that, stretched across Mello's half inflated air mattress with his face buried in his arms.

* * *

When Matt wakes up next, Mello isn't there.

He clicks the laptop on and connects back to the same line. There's a message from L that says two days, find yourself in Grand Central. Matt supposes that means to meet Gevanni there. It's kind of reassuring, to see L's bizarre way of handling things, laid bare in front of him again. He didn't think he would be homesick for something like that, but here he is.

He's just sliding the computer back into his bag when Mello comes in. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't ask questions.

"Two days, in Grand Central station."

"He does know we're wanted fugitives, doesn't he?"

Matt makes a face and doesn't dignify the question with an answer. Mello sits himself down next to him and runs a hand through his hair.

"Rod wants to continue on with the plan."

"Then let Rod do that," Matt says with a shrug of his shoulders. It should be the obvious answer. If Rod wanted to be an idiot, who were they to stop him? They'd be gone in two days anyway, "You're leaving with me."

Mello doesn't say anything, but he does look somewhere else, at the tent wall or the line of the zipper.

"Right?"

"Yeah," Mello sounds irritated, like he's asked the wrong question. Matt frowns at him, "What? I said yeah."

"That doesn't sound very sincere."

"Don't be an idiot," Mello says shortly, "We're going."

"Ah. There's my Mello."

The words come out before he can really register the meaning behind them. He just kind of blurts it out then snaps his jaw shut. It's too late though. He's said it, and Mello's heard him. He's staring at him, and Matt can't do much beyond stare back as the implications settle around them. Mello doesn't speak. Matt thinks he should but any chance of making his mouth work is gone. The line has been severed. The system is down. He needs to manually reboot. God damnit.

To make matters worse, his imagination has gone off somewhere else all on its own. It's this unfamiliar place where Mello's lingering touches mean more than nothing, where they might actually—

"So, uh, Rod said no?"

Mello seems relieved that he doesn't have to break that silence. Matt takes the initiative, and Mello just plays along and rolls with it. He nods, looking down at his feet before back up at him.

"Yeah. Unfortunately. He's not really interested in reason. Once he gets an idea in his head, that's it."

"Sounds like you."

Mello makes a face at him, "Shut up."

Matt grins and can't help but be quietly thankful that they had bounced back from whatever that weirdness was. Everything in his life is weird, though. How they had managed to stay alive even this long is beyond him. He wonders just how much borrowed time they're running on now. How long it would be before the rope they were running with ran out and choked them?

"So Grand Central, then?"

"That's what L said," Matt sits up then and rubs a hand through his hair idly. He feels fidgety, "that far away from here?"

"Not really," Mello says, "we can travel through the underground, mostly. They've sealed the tunnels closer to the station, but going above isn't that bad. We just have to move fast."

"The cameras won't—"

"Maybe. That's why we move fast though."

Matt rolls his eyes. Mello just shrugs and then slips back out of the tent, leaving him alone with the silence. After a moment, he flops backwards and the air mattress groans at him in protest.

Two days.

Two more days hiding like a rat again. Matt thinks he should be used to it now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say I have an excuse for this being so late. This summer has been incredibly busy. But here I am, posting a chapter close to the actual date! Hurray.  
> This chapter was a terrible pain to edit, so thanks again to Margaret for beta'ing this for me.

Rod is a shitty poker player.

Matt discovers that very quickly. He takes him for a good chunk of his money, before Rod declares that he's a cheating prick, and that he has several better things to do. Mello has to stifle his laughter in his palm as Rod leaves them alone, sitting on milk crates around an old storage tub.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Matt shrugs, "He should just be glad it wasn't blackjack."

Mello snorts and shakes his head, but he's got the hint of a smile on his lips. Matt takes the time to gather up the cards, shuffling them quickly before he tucks them back into the weathered box. He's just sitting up to slide the box back under the crate, when there's suddenly a loud booming all around them.

The ground shudders violently, enough to knock him sideways and off the crate, bits of loose rock and ceiling material raining down from above. An old light falls not too far away as the second shudder rocks through the underground.

Matt immediately goes to cover his head, but Mello is there, curling around him as another loud boom echoes through the cavern, followed by another. Matt can hear yelling. Rod's shouting orders at his men, and Mello's hand twines around his to squeeze tight. It feels like the world might actually be ending, like the whole place is going to come down on their heads. It's almost like an earthquake, and he almost expects the floor to open up and swallow them all alive. But the sound is almost too distinct, and Matt thinks distantly of London, the night that Light firebombed the outskirts of the city, how that had been. It almost sounds the same. But he wouldn't—

The ground keeps shaking, even as the rumbling above them gets farther and farther away. When it finally stops, there's dust floating lazily around the station as everything settles into its new place.

"What the hell was that?"

Mello uncoils from around him and slowly rises to his feet. He has dust in his hair, "I don't know. But you wanna bet that Light's behind it?"

Matt wipes some of the dirt off his knees and shoulders, "I don't place bets I know I'm gonna lose."

Mello just smiles grimly and goes to where Rod is standing, wiggling the TV antennae to find a signal. Matt gets up after a second and follows, wiping the remaining debris off his clothes as he does. When Rod finally gets it working, Takada is already on the screen, and Matt can make out the bombed out remains of the city through the static and fuzz.

Takada's face fades as they bring up close ups of the building shells, still on fire in some places. It's been totally destroyed and Matt isn't sure what the goal is.

"Citizens of America, what you are seeing is remains of one of New York city's many ghettos, where known terrorists have been suspected of hiding," Takada says over the panoramic shots of the city, "One of the terrorists is known to have ties to this ghetto and, in his infinite wisdom, our God Kira has passed the final judgement: death."

Matt feel sick. Mello turns to look at him, and he isn't sure he can breathe. He needs to sit down or something.

"Jesus..." His voice sounds hollow in his own ears, "He was looking for us."

Mello's eyes narrow, "Don't do that."

"That's..." He thinks then that he sounds way too panicked. Mello frowns, "He thought we went there. He thought—"

"Stop," Mello repeats, closing the gap between them to grab both his hands. Matt's immediate instinct is to jerk away, but Mello doesn't let him, "You're going to have a panic attack. Breathe, and listen to me. He thinks we're dead. This is a good thing."

"He just killed hundreds of people because of us."

"No," Mello shakes his head, "We didn't cause this."

"We—"

"Shut up," Mello has clearly given up on trying to be nice about it, "Those people were dead anyway. It's a ghetto. You know that. Now stop. We can get out of the country easier now that we're dead. They're not looking for us."

Matt knows that's true. He knows it, but it doesn't make him feel any better. He wishes Mello was wrong. He wishes that this wasn't the outcome of all this.

Takada is still talking on the TV set, but Matt can't hear what she's saying. Mello turns back to the screen and frowns as they show more shots of the remaining shell of New York. Then the cityscape changes, and they're looking at a different bombed out mess.

"That's Chicago," Mello says quietly, "He's sure being thorough."

Rod snorts, "No, that's a personal fuck you. And you don't wanna go after his sister. You two are fucked."

Mello gives him a bit of a look, and Matt just focuses on his breathing. At the very least, Light knew enough about them to know where to bomb to make it uncomfortably personal. Matt doesn't know why that unnerves him as much as it does. It's not like it's news. But it's still frightening to have that basically shoved in their faces. The implications of it are too much to process right now, so Matt just shakes his head, mutters something about needing to sit, and makes his way back to the tent.

* * *

Matt can't sleep.

He doesn't know if it's just his insomnia or something else, but either way, it isn't happening. He gives up on it not long after Mello passes out on the air mattress next to him, and he barely moves when he slips out of the tent. The station is mostly dark, spare the odd torch left lit, and filled with the quiet sounds of Rod's people sleeping. He contemplates going up to the surface, but eventually decides against it and settles for sitting quietly on the second floor of the station, on a hunk of wall that had come loose.

The underground is a lot like the prison in the sense that time is irrelevant.  He doesn't even know if it's day or night now, but he supposes it doesn't matter. It didn't change anything.

Matt wonders if it's worth it.

They could all live easily and freely in London. He could, anyway. He could have a normal job and a flat and a car and get by quite happily without any of this. He could get Mello into the country. That had been his whole reason for this, hadn't it? Saving Mello had been his real priority. Now he had, so what else was there for him to do?

It's entirely possible that they would never actually stop Light from doing what he wanted. This could easily be all for nothing. He doesn't want to think that way, but he knows it's true. The most that they had done was irritate Light. They're ants at his picnic. They may even be less than that.

Matt exhales and scrubs a hand through his hair before he digs in his pocket and pulls out a smoke. It's the third he's had since he came up to the balcony. He knows he should maybe slow down on them, but he feels jittery and uneasy, and it helps, even just a little.

In all honesty, he's not even sure L would willingly let him leave. He's sure he wouldn't try to stop him, but his departure wouldn't be mutual thing. He'd probably have to sneak away when nobody's looking. Not that he's watched very often. Usually they let him do whatever he wanted.

There's a crunch of rubble behind him, and when he looks back, Mello is standing there. He has his arms folded across his chest, and Matt takes another drag on his smoke, before he stubs it out next to his boot.

"You found me, hey?"

"What, like it's hard?" Mello moves closer and nudges him over to sit himself down next to him, "Can't sleep?"

"Nope. What else is new?"

Mello smiles at him, a little, but it fades from his face as quickly as it came. They fall into silence next to one another before Matt reaches for his hand, curling his fingers between his. If it bothers him, Mello doesn't say anything.

"This isn't our fault," he says finally, and Matt can feel him looking at him. He uses his free hand to get another cigarette out and between his teeth before letting go to light it. Mello sighs, "We couldn't have predicted his next move."

"I know. But we should have."

"For what?"

"For those people," Matt says, "People are dying. We're supposed to be doing something about this, and all we're doing is taking these little half-assed shots at him. What's the point, if people are still dying?"

"Then what? You want to help Rod?"

"Fuck no," Matt takes a drag and breathes out smoke. It tickles at the back of his throat, "Rod's an idiot."

"Then what do you want?"

"To stop," Matt says. Mello opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn't. He just closes it a second later, "I'm sick of it."

"We're all sick of it, Matt."

"Yeah, well," another drag, "my mother died for this shit. Look how much good it did."

Mello is looking at him, and Matt turns his head to look back at him.

"You've never talked about her before."

"It's never come up?"

"I assumed she was back in that ghetto," Mello admits, "I thought that might be... She's already gone?"

"Long time ago now," Matt says, "It doesn't matter."

"Obviously it does," Mello reaches out to take the cigarette from his mouth. Matt frowns, "That's what this all boils down to, isn't it? Revenge for her? That's why you want to take out Light."

"No," Matt takes his cigarette back, "She has nothing to do with it. She made her choice. I can't do anything about that."

"Then why?"

"Because," Matt stubs his cigarette out and flicks it into the pile of rubble across from them, "I want to believe that this world is worth saving. That there's something left. Something other than shit."

Mello's hand finds his this time, "It is."

"Doesn't seem like it."

"Is this you backing out?"

Matt should have known Mello would figure him out. He always did, and some things never do change. He's never had someone know him like Mello does. There's something almost comforting about the idea, that someone cared enough to try and know him, to look past what he presented, what everyone else deemed just him being himself.

"No," Matt says finally, "I don't know. Maybe. I'm tired."

"Let's let Rod make his move," Mello says, and that feeling of dread starts to uncoil in Matt's stomach again, "See how it pans out. If it works."

It won't. Matt knows that, "I'm not going to—"

"He has someone. You won't have to."

That does nothing to settle his nerves, and Mello's hand uncurls from his. Instead he wraps an arm around his shoulder. He's not sure when they crossed this line in their friendship, when the touches between them came easy and comfortable, but Matt doesn't pull away from him.

"It might be the in we need," Mello continues, "Let's see."

Matt just bites at the inside of his lip and nods, "Okay."

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally an update, just before i pop off to bed.  
> this is mostly unbeta'd? I've gone over this chapter a bunch but it's kind of late so I probably missed some stuff.
> 
> not that they've been terribly regular lately, but I'm thinking from now on chapter updates may come either Tuesday or Wednesday. That might help swing things back into a proper momentum? idk, fingers crossed.
> 
> also, quick note:  
> thank you to everyone who reads, comments, gives kudos. You guys are amazing, and you keep me posting. Thank you for sticking by me.

Matt's watching Rod and several of his men from Mello's tent, door flap peeled back just enough for him to see through. They'd managed to locate Sayu, tucked away at a small university outside of the city. It's scary convenient, and Matt has questioned their so-called hacker's abilities since the minute he saw him, tapping away at a broken-down keyboard.

That's not really his biggest concern right now. Mello is behind him, lacing his boots up, and Matt looks back at him over one shoulder and resists the urge to make a face him.

"So much for seeing how it pans out," he says under his breath, opting to ignore Mello's withering glare, "This whole thing is fucked. You shouldn't be going."

Mello straightens and grabs his jacket, this ugly leather thing with a feathery faux-fur trim on the hood, "Can you just not?"

"I don't know. Can I?"

"Stop," Mello insists, stepping past him and out of the tent. Matt has to lean to let him pass, “I have to go."

"That's bullshit."

"It's not."

"You're a terrible liar," Matt says snidely, and he's not sure where the attitude is coming from, but he can't be bothered to temper it back. Mello rolls his eyes, "That guy is a shitty hacker."

Mello's jaw clenches, but he doesn't say anything. Matt supposes he has nothing to say. He can't debate the damn truth. Even he's not that stupid. Distantly, he hears Rod yell for him to hurry his slow ass up, and Mello sighs.

"Wait here."

"Where the hell else am I gonna go?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Mello starts to walk away, "try to be less of a shit when I get back. You're being intolerable."

"Takes one to know one," Matt calls after him.

It's a stupid thing to say but Mello doesn't react, he just vanishes around the corner and into the tunnel. Matt huffs and digs in his coat to find his smokes, pulling the pack out to light one up. The only had one more day before they had to go meet Gevanni, and he's more than ready to be away from Grand Central Mafia. Matt can't believe that he actually misses being in London. He thinks then that he just misses daylight, being able to tell the flow of time. It's a strange novelty, one he didn't realize he depended on so heavily. This feels like prison. He's bored but too anxious to sleep, even though he's tired.

He's a weird mess of things right now, and he just scrubs a hand over his face and gets up just to flop into Mello's mattress. He sinks almost right down to the ground, and he scowls against the sheet. Damn thing. He hates it. He wants his own bed.

Just one more day, he thinks, curling an arm under his head to use as a makeshift pillow. Then they could go home.

* * *

Matt wakes up to a chorus of voices outside the tent. One of them is Mello's, and he stumbles to his feet to investigate.

Mello is there, clutching a rag to his shoulder, glaring at their so-called hacker as he taps away at his keyboard in a way that might be described as frantic. Rod is on the TV, and Takada is announcing the execution of a suspected terror ring. Several of his men are with him, bound, gagged and on their knees. Light himself is there, with a pretty blond woman on his arm, smiling at the men like they aren't about to die.

"What the hell?"

Mello's head snaps to look at him, but he doesn't dignify him with an answer. Instead, he looks back to their hacker and there is an unfamiliar tension in his shoulders, "the stadium lights should be hooked up to the security system. Get inside and shut it down!"

"I'm trying!"

Matt's not sure what makes him move. He does it without even thinking about it. He closes the space between the laptop and himself and shoulders the guy out of the way to look. It's more of a mess than he imagined, and he gives the man a sideways glance before he shakes his head.

"Not gonna happen. They've isolated us and locked out our ID. I could reroute us through an offshore server, but that's gonna take too much time. He'll be dead by the time I do that and get back onto their network."

Mello doesn't reply. He just turns his head to look at the TV. It pans to a shot of the men once again before black hoods are slid down over their faces. Matt isn't surprised that Light is willing to do live executions. Not even a little.

He looks away after the first gun shot. He counts six more shots after that, and then Takada is talking. The stadium is eerily silent on the screen, and Light is smiling as he walks off the stage.

Mello just makes a sound that may be a huff and storms to the tent. Matt hesitates for a moment before he follows him.

"What the hell was that?"

Mello's unzipping his pants, "A fucking trap. You want to say I told you so and get it over with? You were right, okay? Are you happy?"

"Am I—?" Matt has to duck to avoid Mello's pants as they come sailing through the air, "no, I'm not happy! People are dead! _You_ could be dead!"

Matt doesn't want to dwell on the panicky feeling that flutters through his chest when he says that. The realization that, holy shit, he could have slept through Mello's execution hits him sort of like a punch to the gut, and he just watches as Mello continues to undress, gingerly easing his coat off to toss aside. He has a smear of blood down his shirt. Matt can see it, shiny-sticky against the leather, and there's wadded up tissue pressed to the wound, soaked red and dark.

"Christ, you're a mess."

Mello glares. Matt sighs.

"Sit down. You're gonna get blood everywhere."

Mello glares harder. Matt glares back until he does as he says and eases down into the air mattress. The damn thing groans like it's dying, and Matt rolls his eyes as he grabs one of the bottles of water next to their bed. There's a towel in there, too, though it's more of a rag, and he soaks it in water before going to sit next to Mello.

"So how did you get lucky enough to get away?"

Mello just shakes his head, and they fall into a tense silence as he dabs at the wound. It's the size of a bullet and it goes clear through the scarred skin of his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?"

He shakes his head, "No, I don't have a lot of nerves left. They're... well."

Matt keeps his eyes on the wound, "That bad, huh?"

"You know what they're like," he says, "Of course it's that bad."

He does know what they're like. What they're capable of, and he's always a little amazed that Mello got away alive. And then that Near did the same thing. It's weird that Mello even helped him. In their time in prison, he seemed more or less indifferent to him. Matt exhales and presses the cloth to the wound. Mello winces.

"You got a first aid kit?" he asks, and Mello points vaguely to one corner of the tent before he reaches up to hold the rag in place. Matt grabs the kit then sits back down. It's got a few rolls of gauze, some tape and some antiseptic. It'll have to do, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Mello exhales, "It was a trap. I told you—"

"What really happened," Matt interrupts, dumping some of the antiseptic onto the rag before he presses it back to the wound. Mello hisses air through his teeth, "Sorry."

"It was an ambush. There was a school, but Sayu wasn't there. I don't think she ever was. Light's men showed up, and they started firing the second they saw us. I managed to get behind a wall, but Rod and the others weren't that lucky."

Matt wipes at the front of the wound next, before taping the gauze down. He starts to wrap it around Mello's shoulder wordlessly, deciding to focus more on what he's doing than what Mello is saying.

"I came back here as quickly as I could," Mello is looking down at his knees now, "I didn't want to do this, you know."

"Then why did you."

Matt doesn't mean for it to come out that way but when he looks up from the bandages, Mello is staring at him.

"Because I had to."

"You didn't—"

"Rod would have put two between my eyes if I had said no," Mello tells him firmly. Matt turns his eyes back to the wound and finishes wrapping it; "It's the mafia, Matt. I owed them. I had to. You don't think I realized how stupid this was?"

"Alright. I get it."

"Do you?" Mello presses, and his tone is cold, "You got to take the easy way out. You got to go with L, so you can't sit there and give me shit for doing this. I did what I had to do to stay alive."

Matt does make a face this time, "I'm not giving you shit for anything. But you could have said all this before. I would have had your back."

Mello looks away from him, and the silence that settles around them now is tense and angry. He hates that this is what stews between them now, what seems to slip into the empty spaces their silences left between them. It never used to be this way, but he supposes that they never used to be this way, either. Matt hates the anger that seems to cling onto their backs, riding around like an unwanted guest. But he is angry, he has been for a long time now, and he doesn't even remember why.

He finishes bandaging Mello's shoulder, taping the gauze down and sitting back. Mello looks away from him. There's tension in his jaw, along the curve of his neck, his back. He looks posed to run, or maybe to fight. Matt just starts to pack the kit back up as Mello starts to pull on a clean shirt.

"Thank you," Mello says finally, "For doing this."

Matt doesn't know what to say to that, so he just doesn't say anything.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy smokes, it's on time! After I go and say I'm gonna stop posting on Monday..........oops?  
> At any rate, here it is. It's kind of long, so I hope it makes up for all the time I've taken to get this back on track? I love you guys. Thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> And, thank you Greenmage128 for beta'ing this thing for me, and for doing it so dang quickly.

They leave for Grand Central before anyone left at Rod's camp wakes up. Mello has to push him off the mattress to get him awake, and Matt drags his feet the entire time they pack up the tent. It's not even like they take a lot, just the first aid kit, a bag of clothes and the laptop. Mello justifies it by saying that these people needed it more, now that Rod had gone and died.

Mello leads him through the tunnel for what feels like hours. They walk in silence and only break once to piss against an alcove wall. Matt isn't even sure that Mello knows where they're going, but eventually they reach a station and slip past the gate onto the platform.

Outside, it’s sunny and the streets are busy with people. Even though it’s been years since he’s been in New York, he has a vague idea of where they are. The entrance above his head reads Fulton Street Station. That's familiar, in a faraway kind of sense.

Mello just looks over at him for a moment before he starts walking. It’s eerie how similar the city is from when he was younger, except now Kira’s—Light’s—face looms on every magazine stand, on every TV screen. He distantly smells a hot dog cart, and his stomach chooses to remind him that he’s hungry.

“Are we gonna stop and get breakfast at some point?”

Not that either of them have any money. He only has British pounds in his wallet, and that's probably not the best thing to try and buy an Egg McMuffin with.

“No,” Mello says back to him, over one shoulder, “We need to go.”

It’s not like L gave them a time, and it's not like either of them have any idea what time it is anyway. Matt assumes that Gevanni will be waiting at the station for them when they get there.

They keep walking. Judging by the amount of people around them, he supposes it must be later in the morning, rush hour traffic time. It’s such a stark change to being underground, but it’s nice to see the sun again, to feel it, to not be surrounded by darkness and barely lit rooms. He feels like an actual human being again, not some bastardized version of a mole person.

Grand Central Station is as busy as Matt always remembers it being when he was younger.

Mello looks around impatiently, “Where’s your friend?”

“How should I know?”

The look he gets in return is less than thrilled, and Matt just shrugs. Mello rolls his eyes at him and wanders off to find a bench to sit himself down on. He follows, plunking himself down next to him with a sigh. Their knees bump. Mello pulls his hood up, and Matt can’t help but think he’s being far more suspicious than necessary. He looks like he’s waiting to rob someone. When he nudges him with his elbow, Mello just huffs out a breath.

Matt doesn’t push it more than that. He just slumps down against the hard back of the bench and gets comfortable.

* * *

By the second hour, Matt has resorted to basically panhandling. Any time someone who looks remotely wealthy walks by, he does his saddest, most pathetic face and waxes poetic to Mello (who doesn't look like he approves of this at all) about how they'll never have enough to get home to see grandma before she dies. They can't even afford to eat, how could they ever get back to California in time?

So far, he's made nearly ten dollars.

He's in the middle of making sad eyes at a woman in a heavy fur coat when Mello elbows him in the ribs, "Stop. You're drawing too much attention to us."

"We're dead, remember?"

"That doesn't mean that you should act like an idiot. Just be quiet. You've got money now, go get us some food or coffee."

Matt makes a face and stands up, "Fine, Grouchy Pants. How do you take your coffee?"

"Black."

"Got it. Just like your heart," Matt says, ignoring Mello's stern look, "I'll even splurge and get you a cookie."

"Great. Just hurry up."

Matt hunches his shoulders a bit and starts to shuffle off in his best Igor impersonation, grumbling a "Yes, master," as he goes. He hears Mello huff behind him, and he can't help but grin.

There's something kind of surreal about sliding into a coffee line behind a woman in a pantsuit. Just an hour ago they were trekking through the tunnels away from the underground lair of the mafia. This is not where he thought this day would take him.

He ends up ordering something with a sickening amount of whipped cream for himself and a plain, dark roast black coffee for Mello. He gets them a Panini and a peanut butter cookie to share and drops the change into the jar on the counter. The girl beams at him for it. Good deed done.

Mello still looks like a suspicious weirdo when he comes back and plunks down next to him, passing off his cup before he pops the top off his to savour. Mello gives him a sideways look and then frowns.

"Did you even get a coffee or is that just a cup of whipped cream?"

"Shut up, there's coffee somewhere."

It even has sprinkles. Winner.

Mello grabs the paper bag of food off the bench and bites into the Panini without waiting. Matt lets him. It's turkey and Swiss cheese, and if Mello doesn't like those things, he doesn't let on. He just devours his half and then hands it off.

Matt pops the lid back onto his coffee and digs in. It could have been the worst sandwich ever made, and he'd probably still love the hell out of it. It's luck that it actually tastes amazing. Mello finishes his coffee in a couple of mouthfuls, and Matt can't help his satisfied grin when he takes his and sips at it.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist."

"Shut up."

They fall into silence after that, Matt tapping his foot to some unheard song. Mello fidgets, clicks at buttons on his phone until he sighs and leans back.

"Where is this guy?"

Matt shrugs, "I don't know. You got Snake on that thing?"

"What?"

"Snake. You know. The game."

Mello makes a face at him, "I know what Snake is. No, I don't have it on my phone. It's not that old."

"I had one of those before we went to prison," he says with shrug, "What about Tetris?"

"Shut up, Matt."

Matt spots Gevanni twenty minutes later. He reaches out and flips Mello's hood back before he hops up and goes toward him. Gevanni seems to notice them, mostly because Mello is telling him to fuck off in his outside voice, and the look he gives them makes Matt stop dead, fast enough that Mello more or less collides with his back.

"Hey, what—"

"Just wait."

Mello frowns, "What? What do you mean? You're the one—"

"Shhhh," Matt hisses, turning and shoving him back toward the bench, "Let's just sit and wait. He'll make his move. Come on."

Mello just scowls at him, and they slump back onto their bench. Matt keeps his eyes on Gevanni, following him as he grabs coffee, then a newspaper. He sits on one of the benches and looks deeply absorbed in the sports section. Matt spots two police officers, milling through the station. Mello puts his hood back up, the idiot, and Matt pretends to tie his boots when they stroll by them.

Finally, Christ _finally_ , Gevanni approaches. He sits down next to them and puts the paper down. Checks his watch. Takes out his phone and types away on it. Then he glances at them before down at the paper. He rises to his feet and walks away, and Matt has to resist grabbing the newspaper up until he's out of sight.

Tucked inside the crossword section is two plane tickets and two passports. Matt slips them inside his coat and gives another glance down at the paper.

At the top, in Gevanni's ridiculously perfect handwriting, is "Good luck".

Matt figures they're going to need it.

* * *

Matt expects that it'll be Naomi who meets them in Portugal.

Instead, it's Lidner. She's standing by the baggage claim, scanning the crowd with a little frown on her face. Though, as they approach her lips do tilt into a sort of half smile, which is definitely new.

"How's Gevanni doing?"

"He's fine," Matt says, looking away from her to watch for his suitcase. He spots it a second later and leans forward to grab it as it goes past, "I'm good, too. Thanks for asking. Oh, yeah, and this is Mello."

"Hope he's worth you risking your ass for," she says before she turns on her heels and starts to walk away. Matt knows it means to follow, and he sighs before he goes after her, Mello right behind him.  

They fly from there back to London. There's a car waiting to take them back to the compound, and while Matt would really rather just go home first, he knows L will want to see them. Mello is being unusually quiet, hands tucked into his pockets.

It's only when they get to the compound that Matt realizes he hasn't taken his hood off since they landed in Portugal.

"Are you okay?" He whispers at him as they walk in, but he doesn't get to hear Mello's response. Linda has leapt at him from the front doors, latching herself around his neck in a way that it almost knocks him on his ass, "Holy shit—"

"What the hell took you so long?" She shouts, pulling back only to smack her palm against his chest, "You had me worried, you jerk!"

"I was kind of going undercover, it's not like I could just fly right back!"

She smacks his chest again, "You had everyone really worried! Especially when we saw the safe house in the news!"

"Yes," L says from the door, and he can only guess at how long he has been there, "What exactly happened there?"

Linda backs off him almost immediately, looking down at her tennis shoes quietly. Matt's just glad she's stopped smacking him. Though he's not sure if he prefers L's cool gaze over it. Mello still hasn't said a word, standing just behind him. Matt glances backwards at him before back to L.

"I don't know."

L sighs, "Were you being careless again?"

He frowns. Actually, he might scowl, "No."

"Well, at any rate, I'm glad you got what you went for. It's nice to meet you, Mello," L says, "But in the future, please try to avoid risking both of our lives for one person. Do you think you can do that?"

Matt bites down on his lip and nods. That's when L turns and walks away, obviously done with their conversation. Lidner steps past him, and Linda gives him a smile, shrugging her shoulders, before she goes down the hallway after them.

"So, that's L," Matt says after a moment, and Mello nods his head but he still doesn't say anything, "Obviously."

"Do you live here? With him?"

"Oh, no," Matt shakes his head and starts to lead him toward the garage. Naomi would probably be more than willing to drive them back to the apartment complex. If not, they'd have to borrow a car, "I have my own place."

"Like, a house."

"Just a flat," he tells him over one shoulder. He briefly debates the merits of the elevator but figures there isn't much point in being lazy now, not after all the walking he'd done stateside. A little more couldn't hurt, "L will probably put you up in one too."

"I'd rather stay with you."

Mello says it so plainly that it's enough to make him pause and turn to look back at him. He's dropped his hood, finally, and Matt struggles with a response before he nods.

"Yeah, okay."

Mello smiles at him, small and reserved, "Okay then."

And something about that smile makes his stomach flip-flop in a way that Matt doesn't care to dwell on.

* * *

Naomi is in the garage, thank God. Matt hates driving in the city. It's too crowded, and he's not exactly comfortable behind a wheel. He's much better at simulated driving on a TV screen.

She looks up when he walks in, and her smile is warm as she rises to her feet to meet him halfway across the garage.

"You're such a shit," she says, "You had me worried."

"Keeps you young."

She pulls back and shoves him, "Right."

Matt shrugs his shoulders and then remembers, oh, right, Mello. He's standing in the doorway, watching, silent and he goes to him and grabs his hand to pull him into the garage more. He protests a little but shuts up once they're closer to Naomi.

"This is Mello."

She eyes him for a moment before she smiles, "The same Mello you wanted to go back and rescue?"

Matt isn't sure why her comment makes his gut lurch or why his face feels hot. It's oddly embarrassing, and he gives her a look before he turns to Mello, "Ignore her."

Naomi actually laughs at him. She has that look on her face, the one she gets when she beats him to a conclusion, and Matt hates it.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you finally. He's told me a lot about you. Maybe this shut in will come out more. Now that you're here, I mean."  
Oh, Christ. Matt just looks at Naomi, decidedly displeased by her smug smile. Mello is just looking between them like he's not sure what's happening. Truth be told, Matt isn't sure if he knows what's happening. Naomi's zeroed in on some new insecurity of his, and he doesn't like it.

"Okay, well, time to go. Come on, Mello, red car is mine."

"You don't need a ride?"

Naomi sounds pretty pleased with herself. Damn her.

"No, nope," Matt starts toward his car, gracefully smashing his knee into Lidner's car as he goes. He curses when Naomi laughs, "No, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Matt grabs the keys off the hook hanging nearby and unlocks the doors, slumping into the quiet safety of the cab. Mello eases in next to him and suddenly, it's not so safe anymore, "She's, uh—pretend that didn't happen."

Mello is staring at him; "Are you okay?"

"Peachy."

"Your face is all red."

"It's hot in here."

Mello raises an eyebrow, "It's not that hot."

Matt has to resist the urge to smash his head against the steering wheel. Instead he just sticks the key into the ignition and revs the engine. Since it’s unlikely that the bowels of hell will open up and swallow him any time soon, this is the next best option. Mello sighs. "Okay, you're fine, then."

"Like I said, peachy."

"You look more like a tomato," Mello retorts as Matt pulls the car out of his spot, and he's amazed that he doesn't crash it in the process, "You're acting weird."

"I am not."

He opens the gate and pulls out into traffic. Mello is still looking at him, and Matt is doing his best not to stare back at him. All he really wants to do is retreat into the quiet of his room and figure out just why Naomi's teasing had gotten to him so badly. She always teased him. It never did this.

They drive the rest of the way in silence. Matt clicks the radio on to fill it, but it doesn't help too much. It's some news program, talking about Light. Matt tunes it out and tries to push down on the uncomfortable feeling that's uncurling in the pit of his stomach. He wants to crawl out of his skin. He tries to make himself feel better by opening the window. Cool air floods the cab, and he bites down a sigh.

Mello doesn't press as to what's wrong with him, either, which is a relief because he's not sure if he has any more excuses.

He parks outside his building and leads Mello up to his floor. The house is a mess, and Matt suddenly regrets not cleaning more. There are takeout boxes all over his dining room table, mixed in with bits of computers and other electronics, and he has a basket of dirty laundry next to his couch. He has a pair of batman boxers slung over one of the dining room chairs. And that's not even mentioning the damn cigarette boxes and butts.

Jesus, he's a slob.

"It's a genius nest," he says in his own defense, ignoring Mello's raised eyebrow, "Don't you start."

That's when Matt notices the toys.

There are blocks and trains and toy cars scattered everywhere, and he frowns as he steps further into his apartment. There's also a little suitcase, right by the doorway to the kitchen, and he isn't sure where—

Oh Jesus.

Sitting amongst a massive line of train track is Near. He turns his head to look at him, and he blinks quietly then tips his head.

"Oh, hello."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Near chooses to ignore him and instead focuses on Mello, "Hello."

Mello's nose curls.

"Hi, Near," he turns to Matt, "Why is he here?"

"Don't ask me," Matt puts his hands up, "I don't know."

"L thought I would be most comfortable here," Near says, turning back to his trains, "He's preparing an apartment for me. Unfortunately, I will have to stay with you until it's finished."

Roommates. He's got two roommates now, and Matt tries to smile. It probably looks more like a grimace though, "Oh, goodie."

"I know it's not ideal," Near says, "But you are the only male with two bedrooms."

"The spare is full of computer hardware. I don't think you can even see the futon in there," Matt points out, "Where are you going to..."

He trails off when Near points to the mountain of computer towers, parts and monitors heaped outside the door, along with whatever other junk he had lying around in there.

"It's been taken care of already."

Matt could scream. Instead he just grits his teeth and goes to his room. Somehow, he's not surprised that L would volunteer him to house Near when he just as easily could have stayed with Lidner or in Gevanni's empty apartment. Mello follows and shuts the door behind himself. Matt's chair creaks when he sits down. He scrubs a hand over his face and through his hair. He never realized how frustrating living with someone else could be. Mello just sighs.

"I guess you get the couch," Matt says, lifting his eyes to look at him, "I was going to clean out the spare room and give it to you. Guess that's not gonna happen.

"I could... stay in here."

"Oh, yeah," Matt shrugs and clicks on his computer tower. The row of monitors light up then, "I'm good with the couch."

"No, I meant," Mello hesitates, and Matt looks over at him. He never hesitates on anything, "I meant with you."

_Oh_.

Matt just stares at him. Mello looks back for only a second before he huffs out loud and goes to sit heavily on the edge of his bed, "Never mind. I'll take the couch. I didn't mean to put you—"

"No," Matt cuts him off, "No, it's... that's fine with me. I mean, we shared in New York. Same thing."

Except it isn't. In New York there hadn't been any other options. Here there are plenty of options, and yet this is the one they've chosen. There is a strange finality about it, something immense and heavy forming between them, and Matt knows he should question it, but he's somehow more comfortable letting it just go by unnoticed. Mello seems to share that frame of mind.

Thank Christ.

There's an email from L waiting for him, and when he opens it, all that's inside is "Near will be staying in your flat." Matt grumbles a no shit under his breath but he replies with "I noticed," before logging out of his email client. Behind him, Mello is quiet, but he can feel him watching him.

"You can... just do whatever," Matt says, looking back at him, "Get comfy. Make yourself at home."

"You're really good at this stuff, aren't you?" Mello asks, "The computers, I mean. The apartment is full of it. Do you build them, too?"

Matt glances down at the tower next to his feet, "I guess, sort of. I built this one after the one L gave me crashed. Keep them running off parts I scavenge."

"Where did you even learn that?"

"I kind of knew from before," Matt admits, turning back to his monitors. "I was a nerdy kid who kinda... grew into a nerdy adult. I used to repair computers in my spare time for extra cash. Before all this shit went down."

"You made yourself useful."

"I guess."

"It's clever," Mello says, and Matt tries to ignore the uncomfortable way that praise makes his stomach flip flop. He opens his mouth to say something but then his door is easing open and Near is stepping in. Mello huffs, "You're supposed to knock."

Near ignores him, "Matt. I'm hungry."

"Okay? You know where the kitchen is."

"You don't have any food."

Matt makes a face and turns back to his computer, "There's crackers and peanut butter in the cupboard. Eat that. I'll order food later."

Near doesn't move, "What kind?"

Mello rolls his eyes. Matt just rubs at his forehead and reminds himself that Near doesn't really have anywhere else to go, "I don't know. Go pick from a menu."

Near just stands there and looks at him, like he's not sure what the purpose of doing that would be. Matt exhales and stands up.

"Let's go pick one together, then. Mello, do you—"

"I don't care."

Matt looks over at him and finds that he's already stretched out on his bed with his back to him. He can't really sit there and figure out Mello's moods, Near's already shuffled off without him, so he just leaves him there and goes to find them dinner.

He could deal with Mello later.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still technically Tuesday, so this chapter is just barely late. Go me.  
> This one's a bit lighter in tone than this whole thing has been, which was nice. There is some adult-esque content in this? Nothing explicit or anything, but there is some mentions of some sexual activity sooo....just a head's up for anyone who isn't comfortable with that sort of thing!
> 
> Thanks again to Greenmage128 for beta'ing this & thanks to all my lovely readers for continuing to follow this.

Near decides he wants pizza.

L had given them all bank accounts and money to spend to live, though Matt can't remember the last time he used anything that had been so generously gifted him. He prefers breaking into L's account and funnelling the money into his. It's more satisfying.

If L noticed, he never said a word.

Near eventually settles on a cheese pizza. Matt gets pepperoni for Mello and him to split. Mello never comes out of the bedroom, so he ends up sharing most of it with Near.

Which is weird.

Mostly it's Near who is weird. He picks all the pepperoni off and just eats the pizza basically bare, and as soon as he's done, he's back to his trains. Matt supposes he can't really comment on it. He had a refurbished Xbox set up in his room, and he had spent more hours than probably healthy in front of it.

"You and Mello are still very close," Near comments, "Isn't it strange?"

Matt looks away from the TV. He'd settled on some old Fresh Prince reruns from before Light, "Isn't what strange?"

"How close you are."

"I don't know," Matt looks back to the TV, "Haven't thought about it."

"You look at him like a lover."

Matt nearly chokes on his own spit. Near turns to look back at him. He smiles, reaching up to curl his hair around his finger. He looks smug, in his own way.

"I do not."

"He most certainly looks at you that way."

"Where are you even getting this from?"

"From the two of you," Near says, "Where else would I be—"

"Okay, stop," Matt clicks the TV off and stands up, "Go to bed. You're sleep deprived. I'm tired. It's bed time."

"It's odd how you're avoiding the subject. And very telling."

Matt tosses the remote back onto the couch, "Good night, Near."

He shuts his bedroom door before Near can say anything else. Mello is still on the bed, though he's burrowed himself under a blanket. Matt doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he undresses down to his boxers and slides in next to him. Almost immediately, Mello rolls to face him. Their noses brush. Matt feels all the breath leave his lungs in a whoosh.

"Hi."

He's surprised he managed that much.

"Where's Near?"

"Living room," Matt wants to scoot backwards, but he can't make his body move in the way he wants. Mello's hand finds his under the covers, "Why?"

"He's nosy," Mello says, and Matt can't argue with that, "I don't like him."

"You helped him out."

"I hoped he'd die in that forest," Mello tells him, and something cold uncurls in Matt's stomach, even as Mello's hands squeeze his tighter, "You didn't come back."

"I'm here now."

Mello's eyes won't leave his. Discomfort prickles down his spine. He's never been good with this kind of close contact. It's always made him awkward and uneasy, and Mello's crowding him, suffocating him, and he doesn't know if he can make him stop. Worse, he's not sure he wants him to.

Matt tries, and fails, to swallow past the knot in his throat. He can feel an uncomfortable press against his boxers and that's a whole new kind of mortifying, but the more Mello stares, the worse it gets. His hand is right there. What if he notices? Christ.

Mello's eyes shift to his mouth, then back to his eyes. His breath ghosts over his cheeks, fans over his face, and Matt tries to remember that breathing is equal parts inhale and exhale.

"Are you going to stay?"

Matt needs a smoke. He needs a whole pack of smokes, and he manages to nod his head.

"Yeah, I'm gonna stay."

Mello smiles, a little, then curls closer. Matt bites down so hard on his lip he thinks he may break skin. But Mello doesn't react, just squeezes his hand, and Matt doesn't dare risk moving.

Finally, after what very well may be a century, Mello's breathing evens out. Matt slips out of the bed and away from him. He knows he won't be sleeping tonight, not with the current situation.

He's trapped. He can't go into the bathroom, Near will hear him. The TV is on again. He can hear the muted sounds of it through the wall.

So that leaves him with the balcony or staying in here, next to Mello.

Matt opts for the obviously less awkward choice.

He shrugs on a pair of sweatpants, grabs his pack of smokes and slips outside, shutting the sliding door behind him. It clicks, but Mello doesn't stir. Slumping into one of the older lawn chairs, he digs out a cigarette and lights up before he dips a hand into his pants and curls a fist around himself.

Quick, easy, and then he could go to bed.

He uses one hand to smoke, and it's a little awkward, he's kind of limited on space, and he's kind of cold, but he's making it work. That's all that matters. He could get off this way. He just had to think sexy thoughts.

Like Mello, on his—

Jesus Christ, what the _fuck_.

Matt takes a long, hard drag on his cigarette and focuses on the burn of smoke against his throat and the feel of his hand on himself.

But there's that perverse feeling of being watched, and he pauses just enough to look over one shoulder. Mello and Near are both standing in the doorway, on the other side of the glass, and Matt nearly leaps out of the chair. Certainly, he jerks his hand out of his pants so fast he's surprised he doesn't hurt himself, but he knows when he's been caught.

He feels like a deer in headlights. Mello is staring at him, and even in the darkness, Matt can see a flush riding high on his cheeks. Near just looks indifferent. Matt turns away from them and takes a long drag on his cigarette.

For fuck’s sake.  

* * *

Morning is almost as awkward as last night.

Matt sleeps on the couch, curled as small as possible under one of the throws Lidner bought for him, and he desperately prays that he'll be devoured by the cushions. He wakes up to Near, kneeling on the ground in front of him, building towers out of dice. Half his living room has been transformed into a dice city, and he can't make himself care.

Instead he groans and pulls the blanket over his head.

"Do you want to discuss the events of yesterday?"

Events. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Not even a little bit."

Matt pokes his head out enough to see Near, looking directly at him. He swallows and then ducks back under the blanket. It can't be morning. It just can't be. But a few minutes later he hears his bedroom door open, which means Mello is awake, so he would have to face the inevitable. Matt sits up a bit, just as Mello comes into the room. Their eyes meet, and he isn't sure if he's terrified or just still really horny. But Mello looks really good in—Jesus Christ that's his shirt.

Mello is in his black Batman T-shirt.

And his boxers. Those are definitely his boxers. They have black and red stripes on them. Mello is wearing his clothes. _His clothes_. He slept in his clothing. Matt's throat goes dry.

"I'm going to make pancakes," Mello says, "Is that okay?"

Matt's head wobbles in a nod. Near doesn't answer, he just turns back to his dice, and Mello tsks at him before he vanishes into the kitchen. He supposes he should go and make sure he doesn't burn the house down, but he can't make himself get up off the couch quite yet. So he just flops backwards, drags the blanket up over his head and savours the muted light and warmth.

Eventually, Matt does get up. Mello hasn't burnt the house down yet, so there's that to be positive about. He pulls the blanket around his shoulders, over his head, and shuffles into the kitchen.

"He lives," Mello says over one shoulder, "You're as lazy as I remember."

"Shut up."

"Why did you sleep on the couch?" Mello pours some of the batter into the pan, "I... kind of thought you'd sleep in your own bed."

Matt just looks at him for a minute before he wonders if he maybe dreamt the whole awful thing. Mello looks over one shoulder at him, and Matt's stomach flip flops. There's that deer in headlights feeling again, and he opens his mouth before he shrugs.

"Just... did."

Mello looks back to the pan and flips the pancakes he has in them. Seeing him being domestic and cooking is weird, in the way that seeing a dog walk on its hind legs is weird.

"Do you, uh, do you need any help?"

Mello shakes his head, "No, I'm good."

Silence settles over the kitchen then, and Matt thinks he should say something about last night, but he can't make himself do it. It's better to let sleeping dogs lie, or that's what they said anyway, and if Mello didn't want to bring it up, then who was he to do it? So he just watches him as he moves around the kitchen making them breakfast.

"So when do we start working?"

Matt shrugs, "Whenever L needs us to do something. Usually I just sit around. He pretty much has things handled, so I—"

As if on cue, his cellphone starts ringing from inside his pocket. Mello raises an eyebrow, and Matt sighs, digging it out. He jabs at the talk button without really looking at the call display before he presses it to his ear. Mello turns back to his pancakes.

"Yeah?"

"Holy moly, you answered!"

Oh, it's Linda.

"I always answer."

"You never answer at this time!" She argues, and Matt can almost see her rolling her eyes, "It's not even ten."

"Then why do you always call me before noon if you know I don't answer?"

"Shut up, don't be mean."

Matt sighs, "What do you want, Linda?"

"L wants you, Mello and Near to come in. He's having a meeting."

"Meeting about what?" Mello turns to look at him then. Matt waves a hand at him to tell him to never mind, but it's too late. He's already come over and pulled the phone away from his ear enough so he can listen, "What does he want?"

"To talk about what to do next," Linda says, "How soon can you come?"

Matt glances sideways at Mello who mouths 'now'. Of course he would. Breakfast is never a priority with Mello. He's always blowing it off. It's not fair. Those pancakes smell like heaven. Matt makes a face.

"Give us like twenty minutes."

"Seriously?" Linda sounds surprised, but she recovers quickly, "Okay, see you soon then!"

She hangs up, and Matt tucks the phone back into his pocket. Mello's already moved away from him to turn off the stove and move the frying pan off the element. Then he's out of the kitchen, presumably to change, which is mildly disappointing. Matt likes the way his legs look in his boxers.

And that is kind of weird.

"Near," Mello calls as he comes out of the other room. He grabs his boots and shoves his feet into them, "Come on. We're going to see L. Let's go."

Matt grabs a pancake off the plate on the counter and comes out of the kitchen, just as Near wanders out of the living room.

"What does L want?"

"Meeting," Mello says as he finishes lacing his boots, "He wants us there. Come on."

Near frowns, but he starts to put on his shoes and Matt just watches them, taking a bite out of the pancake he's got in his hands. It's a shame. They're good, and they're going to be cold by the time they got back. And microwaved anything tasted like shit.

Great.

* * *

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise? Matt's up and at a meeting before noon. I'm impressed."

L is squat-sitting in a chair, a cup of tea in front of him. He has a box of candy open in front of him, too, and he reaches in to pick one. It has red squiggles on it. Matt figures it's strawberry-something. Linda is a few seats over, thumbing through a magazine. She looks up when they come in and smiles.

"Yeah," Matt sinks into one of the chairs. Mello sits beside him, Near on his other side, "Miracles do happen, I know."

L's lips quirk into a half-smile before he pops the chocolate into his mouth.

Naomi comes in then, her arms heavy with several thick manila folders, and she sets them next to L before sitting down on his one side. Matt gives her a quick smile, and the one she returns from across the table is warm, like she's happy to see him, though something shifts in her expression when she sees Mello next to him. Matt can't quite figure out what it means. Lidner is next to arrive, phone to her ear. She passes it off to L and sits to his other side.

"It's Gevanni," she says, grabbing one of the folders Naomi set down, quickly flipping through it, "He's got a few minutes, so I thought you might want to brief him too."

"Oh. Excellent, thank you," L takes the phone between two fingers and holds it to his ear, "How are you doing?"

Matt can hear the faint sound of Gevanni replying. L makes a thoughtful noise, picks up another chocolate, then clicks the speaker button on and sets the phone down on the table.

"Is that everyone?" He looks around and seems satisfied, "I'll get right to it then. I have received word that there will be a plane departing Chicago in two weeks’ time. It will be carrying several high ranking officials of the Japanese government, including but not limited to Miss Misa Amane and Mikami Teru. They are destined for Tokyo."

There is a confused silence settled over the room. Lidner and Naomi exchange glances, and Matt finds Linda's eyes across the table. She shrugs her shoulders.

"And?" It's Mello who breaks the silence, "What's your point?"

L plucks a chocolate from the box. He inspects it briefly before he pops it into his mouth. Matt has that uneasy feeling suddenly, that unsure, nervous twist in his guts. It's not often that L does that to him, that the things he says put him on guard, but there's something about his expression and his tone that's raising red flags for him.

"It's quite simple, really," L swallows and picks up another candy, "I want to shoot it down."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thanks for over 600 hits! I still kind of can't believe it, but I appreciate all of you so much.  
> Second, this chapter was beta'd by Greenmage128, who is literally the best as I've already mentioned.

"You're kidding."

Matt breaks the silence this time. L smiles at him, like he's pleased that he's spoken up. He can't see how that's the case. Mello's jaw is tense, and on his other side, Near has reached up to twist his hair between his fingertips.

"What about... other people on board? Crew members?" Gevanni asks. His voice is tinny and far away through the speaker.

L keeps smiling, "It's a private flight. No other passengers, except those in Light’s immediate entourage. I wouldn't be considering this an option otherwise."

Something about this whole thing seems wrong. Matt meets Naomi's eyes from across the table, and he knows her well enough to know she's feeling the same doubt he is.

"At any rate, Matt, I'll need a passenger manifesto and a flight plan to start. Halle, I'll need you to locate a missile. Preferably one in the US. Can you both do that?"  
Lidner hesitates before she nods, "Yes, sir."

L's eyes settle on him, "Matt?"

He knows he should answer with a resounding yes. But the unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach makes him stop. L is just a man. He made mistakes like any other man. They all had put their trust in him, that he could fix the world, but what if he couldn't? What would this mean for all of them?

Matt doesn't want to doubt him, but he has a feeling that he's not the only one at the table who does. Linda is focusing intently on a hangnail on her left hand, and Naomi has turned her attention back to the folders she brought. Lidner has a poker face that would make anyone look like an amateur, so he doesn't even try to get a read on her. He glances sideways at Mello.

He looks like he approves. Like he wants to do this. Matt knows that look in his eye. He's more than familiar with it now, actually.

So Matt nods, "Yeah. Yeah, I can do it. Just give me some time."

"Will a week and a half be sufficient?"

He nods. L puts his hands on his folded knees and looks around the table.

"Good. Get the passenger manifesto and forward it to both myself and Naomi. Lidner, I'll have a flight to the US arranged for you. Meet up with Gevanni and get Matt access to the government servers. Naomi, please find out what you can about the passengers once you have that list. Just to ensure we're not being fooled."

Under the table, Matt finds Mello's hand and squeezes hard. Mello looks over at him, and there's concern in his expression. He can't explain this. He can't tell him that he's going on a gut feeling. He sounds stupid. He's being stupid, he thinks; L had experience with Light, and he knew where to hit to make it hurt. The plan itself isn't half-bad. Wiping some major players off the board would make a dent in Light's otherwise flawless defense, and, right now, that's the best they can hope for.

It's David versus Goliath.

And they're the farthest thing from a giant.

* * *

 Matt grabs a plate of disappointingly cold pancakes and goes to his room the minute they're home. He can feel Mello watching his back until he shuts the door behind himself. He thinks to lock it, but decides against it in the end. Instead, he curls up on his bed and clicks on the TV before taking an unnecessarily large bite of mushy pancake.

They're running news broadcasts on almost all channels. He settles on some mindless entertainment one, and they're going on about Misa Amane, Light's celebrity girlfriend. _Fiancée_ , apparently.

Isn't that lovely, Satan himself is going to take a blushing bride.

Matt scowls at her smiling face as she happily chats to the interviewer about their spring wedding, and how Light totally surprised her, the big softie. She says that she'll be flying home to Japan in two weeks to start planning the wedding.

It matches up with L's information, at least.

Matt takes another bite of pancake and changes the channel.

There isn't anything on that he wants to watch, and he doesn't feel like bothering with the Xbox, so he sets the pancakes aside and decides to nap. He could always use the sleep, especially considering he'd probably be up late breaking into the airline's servers to find that stupid passenger list.

So he shucks his pants and shirt and gets under his covers. He pulls them right over his head and makes a pointed effort to ignore the sound of the door opening. Then the blankets are being lifted up again, and Mello is sliding in bed next to him.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, "You're acting weird."

"Nothing," Matt lies, "Just tired."

"This isn't your tired self," Mello says, "I know what you're like when you're tired. You're being... distant."

Distant. That's one way of putting it, he supposes.

"I'm really okay."

Mello frowns at him. Matt makes a face back, and he doesn't even care about how childish it is.

"Are you going to work on what L asked you to?"

There it is. Matt shrugs and looks down. He concentrates on the scarred skin on Mello's neck, the way it stretches over his collarbone and disappears under the collar of his shirt. Oh. That's one of his shirts too. It's inside out.

Matt lifts his eyes and meets Mello's again, "Later, I will."

That seems to be enough to placate him, because he doesn't push the subject. Instead he reaches out and brushes some of Matt's hair back from his eyes. The touch is tender, and it catches him a little off guard.

"It's going to be okay," Mello says, "You taught me that."

"Since when are you an optimist?"

"I'm a realist," Mello tells him, "And you've proven that things work out the way they're supposed to. Look at us. Did you ever think you'd see me again?"

"Of course," Matt says it so quickly that Mello looks at him oddly, "I said I would."

"That was a dead man's promise," He tells him, and he sighs when Matt raises an eyebrow, "Something nice you say, to comfort someone when a situation is shit. Like, how you say 'it's not that bad' or 'help is on the way, you'll be okay' when someone has been fatally shot. They're doomed, but you tell them what you think they want to hear so it's less horrible."

"That's morbid."

"That's the reality of it," Mello says, "My parents said they would be back for me. I knew it wasn't true, but it made me feel better regardless. It's the same as what you did."

Matt tries to think back to the last thing his mother ever said to him, but he can't remember. Maybe it was something like that, something encouraging. Maybe it was just goodbye. He isn't sure he wants to remember anyway. It's easier to just let her slip away then try and cling to something that wasn't coming back.

Matt isn't sure when he became this cynical.

"Except I actually came back for you," Matt points out, "In a roundabout way."

"I don't think I would have gotten away from the university if you weren't waiting for me," Mello admits. There's something so open about the way he says it that it makes something twist in the pit of his stomach, something he can't quite name, "I knew I had to get back. For you."

"That's bullshit," he says, and Mello gives him a look, "You would have done that with or without me. You don't exactly roll over and die easily."

Mello makes a face, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Matt rolls his eyes then reaches out and pokes the edge of the scar. Mello jerks back from his hand almost immediately. He barely even grazes his skin.

"My point."

"That is an awful, stupid point," Mello says shortly, "That has nothing to do with anything."

"You think someone who gives up would have lived through whatever gave you that? I sure as shit wouldn't have made it."

"Of course you would have."

"No, I wouldn't," Matt sits up then, knocking the blankets backwards. It's stuffy, and he can't breathe anymore, "I'm pretty much a coward. I roll belly up. You don't."

"Don't do that," Mello sits up too then, "Don't be like that."

"I know what I am," Matt tells him, because he does. He's always been more content to kind of hover off screen and in the shadows, a proverbial trump card. He liked to fight his battles behind the scenes, while people like Mello took the fight to the front lines, "And I'm okay with it. Not everyone can do what you do."

"Do what I do," Mello repeats, "And just what do I do, exactly?"

"Now you just want me to stroke your ego."

"Shut up."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little late, but the last week has been hectic between work and personal stuff. But here we are.  
> Thanks for all the continuing love everyone, it's immensely appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks to greenmage128 for the beta, as usual. You're my hero.

Deep down, Matt is a procrastinator.

He far prefers to put something off until the last minute and occupy himself with other, less pressing issues. His mother always used to tell him off for it.

This situation, unfortunately, isn't any different. He's much more content to lay on his bed and play Xbox than actually work toward getting L what he wants. He's not even really sure why, honestly, because it shouldn't be particularly difficult. He also knows that once it's done, his hands are washed of the whole thing. He could back off and let everyone else do what needed to be done.

Mello sometimes tries to push him to do it. He comes and sits in his room and watches him, hovering behind him. Mello makes it very clear that he should be working, without actually ever saying that. Then again, Mello is a master of saying entire sentences without opening his mouth, which is kind of annoying.

Matt also finds very quickly having three people in his apartment is a bit too crowded for his liking. L never actually moves Near out, and Matt just figures he has more pressing issues than trying to get his apartment set up. So Near stays with them. Matt doesn't mind him, honestly. He's quiet, and easily occupied, usually with toys and puzzles sprawled across the living room.

It's Mello who takes offense to him being there, and Matt finds himself playing peacekeeper more often than he likes. Mello's temper is particularly nasty with him, and Near's calm, quiet, logic is kind like water on a grease fire. Matt's not sure why he's become the baking soda, but the closer to the deadline it gets, the less he's willing to put up with it.

So it's because of those two that he eventually starts working on getting into the airline's database. At least when they got started (or, rather, when Mello did, because Near rarely started anything) he could kindly tell them to shut the fuck up and let him work.

Except, as it turns out, he actually needs quiet to do this job. The airline’s servers are much harder to get on to than Matt originally anticipated. Mostly because everything is in fucking Japanese, which isn't a language he's had to be fluent in lately. He probably should have anticipated that, but hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Regardless, it's one roadblock after another, and he's resorted to hacking with his headphones on. He tries some soothing white noise rain simulator, but it doesn't help. It just makes him sick, so he tries thrash-metal. That's even worse.

It's the third day of him trying to work, and probably the eighteenth time he's been told he doesn't have clearance that he gives up and hurls his headphones across the room. They hit the wall beside his bed and land in a heap on the floor.

The door creaks open almost immediately, and Mello's head pokes in. Matt can see him in his peripheral. He's got his forehead propped against the heels of his hands.

"What was that?"

Matt reaches back to point at his headphones. Mello hums in acknowledgement, then steps in and closes the door.

"Do you want to talk?"

"That's why I have this," Matt says, plucking his rubber duck off the desk to show to Mello, "I talk code to that. It doesn't help. This stupid—"

Mello steps closer and leans over his shoulder, "It's all Japanese."

"I know that."

"Do you even know what it says?"

Matt looks up at him blankly for a minute then frowns, "... Well, duh. I speak Japanese. Sort of."

"Really?"

Matt turns back to the screen, "Yes, really. French, conversational Spanish, and a little bit of German, too."

"What the hell for?"

He just sighs then shakes his head, "Just— It's a long story. Never mind. I really need to get this done."

Mello rolls his eyes, "Since when are you Mr. Dedicated To The Cause? A few days ago, you wouldn't even talk about this project. Now you've been locked in here for six hours working."

Six hours, Jesus.

"Shhhh. Go away and let me concentrate."

"Matt—"

"I'm verging on a breakthrough."

"You are sitting in your room, in the dark, in yesterday's clothes, talking internet-speak to a rubber duck. I think the word you're looking for is breakdown."

"I— You— Shut up and go away, Mello."

Mello's lips twist up into a smile. Stupid, smug know-it-all. Matt narrows his eyes at the screen and punches in yet another password, and he totally doesn't hold his breath to see if it works.

It doesn't.

That's about the time Mello starts laughing, and his rubber duck goes sailing across the room right for his head. Mello's just lucky his aim is shit.

* * *

As much as he hates to admit it, Mello is right. He needs a break, a smoke, dinner, maybe a shower. Matt isn't quite sure if he can smell himself yet or not.

In the end, he orders a pizza, cranks open the sliding door to the balcony and smokes at his desk as he continues to test passwords, none of which seem to be working. It's incredibly frustrating to be this stuck, if only because it's never happened before, especially not to this degree.

Maybe he's lost his edge. Maybe the industry had evolved too much for him and—

Oh, Christ, is this his midlife crisis?

Matt groans and lights up another cigarette. Through the wall, he hears Mello snap something at Near, and he blows out smoke long and hard.

He's run out of plausible ideas on how to proceed, so he begins to prepare himself mentally for the ensuing conversation with L. He'd have to tell him he'd been bested by an airline company. That their security system was too much for him.

He makes a face at his monitor, then keys in " _ihatemylife123_ " just because he's feeling far too annoyed for his own good.

The words " _PASSWORD ACCEPTED. WELCOME_ " blink across his screen, and Matt isn't entirely sure if he wants to laugh or cry.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this is so late everyone!  
> I've been busy packing up & moving these past few weeks. But now I'm more or less all settled in to my new place, so I'm hoping I'll be back to updating on the regular!  
> I also want to say thank you to everyone for all the comments & kudos that have been sent my way. they've definitely brightened my day a few times, so thanks to each and every one of you. c:
> 
> extra special thanks to Greenmage128 for the beta. you're amazing!

It's almost scary how easy it is to navigate through the airline's information after that. Matt supposes their programmer half-assed it. Getting in was the challenge, and it wasn't supposed to be done. But he did it.

He creates himself a backdoor, closes out, and then finally goes to shower. It's late, but Mello is awake, watching TV through a gap in Near's expansive block city. He looks over when the bedroom door creaks open.

"Did you—"

"Yeah," Matt scrubs a hand through his hair, and then he wishes he didn't, "I got it."

"Good," Mello turns back to the TV, “I saved you some pizza. It's on the counter."

Shower first, then food.

Once he's satisfied that he doesn't smell like a sweaty, disgusting mess anymore, Matt grabs two pieces of pizza (and it's double pepperoni; winner) and settles back at his desk. The backdoor is still in place, so he slips back in and starts looking for L's plane.

Matt knows he won't find it just by looking up Misa Amane as a passenger. So he keys in the airport and the departing time. Several results come up.

It's just after dawn when he finally narrows it down. It's the right flight number, the right departing airport, and the right arrival airport. The departure time matches, too. Matt even gets lucky and finds a bunch of tickets bought under one credit card that he traces back to Misa Amane.

But what doesn't match is the passenger list. It's oversold, and it looks like mostly civilians. Matt doesn't want to think about what that means, that their only chance had been taken from them, even if it was a shitty one to begin with.

They couldn't do this.

Matt prints the list anyway and tucks it into the folder that Naomi gave to him. He'd show L later today, and the whole thing would be called off. Lidner would come back, and they could go back to the drawing board.

He closes out of the hack and goes for his bed. His eyes are dry, and he needs to sleep this off. He hates to admit it, but he's sort of relieved. He hadn't liked this idea from the beginning, and now there would be no way to proceed. L would be forced to find something else to do to strike back against Light.

Matt only manages to get just under two hours of sleep. He wakes up feeling uneasy with Mello curled up against his back. There's sunshine coming in through a gap in his curtains, and he thinks he could stay like this, here, forever, because this is easy. This feels right and natural and safe, and the ugliness outside can't get in here. It can't ruin this. He will have this moment until the very end.

Mello must sense that he's awake because he shifts and sits up on one elbow. Matt turns his head to look back at him. Mello smiles, just a little, at him and then settles back down against the bed.

Matt just slides out from under the cover and changes into less sleep worn clothes. When he looks back over at Mello, the sunshine that's peeking into his room has turned his hair golden, and Matt can't remember the last time he found something so beautiful.

* * *

L's compound is empty when he gets there, but L himself is in one of the main meeting rooms, reading through something on his screen. He looks back when Matt lets himself in, and then turns back to the computer.

"Problem?"

"No," Matt says, then catches himself, "Well, not really. I got into the airline server. Their passenger list..."

L's chair creaks as he turns it around, "Excellent. And the flight path?"

"No, I—" he pauses, "We need to talk."

"Oh," L reaches it to take the folder from his hands, and Matt tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, "So there _is_ a problem?"

Matt nods, "Yeah. You could say that."

"Well?" L looks between him and the folder, "What is it?"

"There are civilians on that plane," Matt says, looking down at his feet before back up at L. He feels like he's wrong, like he made a mistake, L wouldn't— "Like, a lot of them."

"Yes, and?"

"What?"

L turns back to his computer screen and sets the folder aside. Matt feels sick, like he can't quite make himself breathe right anymore.

"I'm just not sure where the problem lies. Misa Amane and Teru Mikami will be present on the flight, correct? You've confirmed at least that, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then I expect you'll be getting me the rest of the information that I requested, won't you?"

"Did you... there are civilians on that plane. Like, normal... every day regular people. Just—"

"I fail to see the point. Our targets will be present. That's the important piece of information."

Matt just watches the back of L's head, half expecting him to turn around and yell, “Gotcha!” but he never does. He just keeps scrolling through whatever it is that he's been reading, and Matt swallows hard.

"You told us there were no civilians. Just them. But there are. We can't go through with this."

"Ah," L turns around—finally, Christ, _finally_ —and sets his hands on his knees, "I see. So that's your objection. No, there will be civilians, and I knew that. Light is hiding these people to avoid an attack."

"So, you lied?"

"Would you have done as I asked if I hadn't?"

Matt thinks he may throw up.

"At any rate, if you feel some sort of moral objection, you're free to go. You've done the most important part now. I really don't require your services any longer."

Matt can barely hear him over the roar of blood in his ears.

"So, you... you're going to murder a bunch of innocent people. Why?"

"Because there is no other way. We don't have any other options right now, and we are running out of time," L's voice is firm, "We must make a move before Light does. In cases like these, sacrifices must be made."

"So, the end... it, what, it justifies the means?"

"It always has," L turns back to his computer, and Matt knows when he's being dismissed, but he can't make himself leave, "Everything we do here, it must serve a purpose. And that purpose is overthrowing Light."

"You want to shoot down a plane full of civilians to kill people that are close to him. That's... that's fucked up. You're fucked up. This whole—"

"Is this your way of trying to convince me to _not_ do this?" L looks back at him for a moment before back at his screen, "Matt, as I said, this is the only way."

"No, it's not," Matt exhales hard, "It can't be."

"Believe me when I say I have analyzed every other possible scenario, and none of them are feasible in the way that this is. This is the only way. There is no other alternative. People will die, yes, but we must also consider the benefits this will have. I don't really expect you to understand, but please try."

"You're the same as him," Matt says, and L turns his chair around to face him again, "You're worse than him."

L opens his mouth to say something, but Matt doesn't give him the chance. He makes sure to slam the door to the room behind himself, which might be childish, but he doesn't care. He just needs to find a way to make this not happen.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is too long overdue. oops.  
> I'll try not to leave everyone hanging as long again. this just got so far away from me and before i knew it, it had been like 3 weeks. my bad.
> 
> thanks to greenmage128 for the beta, as per usual.

"He wants to do what?"

Mello won't stop pacing. He just keeps walking across the living room, weaving his way through Near's towers. Near is kneeled off to the side, quietly building yet another addition to the cityscape. Matt's been watching him for a good five minutes, running over every possible scenario where this could end well, and he's almost resigned himself to the fact that it won't.

"He's going to murder innocent people."

Mello sighs, "You must have—"

"I didn't hear him wrong, Mello, Christ."

"Then why did he lie about it?"

"Said we wouldn't have helped if he didn't," Matt leans forward to press his forehead to the heel of his hands. His head hurts. He wishes he knew how to process all this, but he just can't quite figure it out, "And he's not wrong but— Jesus. He won't change his mind."

"He must have a good reason for this," Mello says, and Matt looks up at him sharply, "What? He's L. He wouldn't do this if it wasn't the best damn option."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Don't you get all self-righteous. You've done immoral shit before, I know you have."

"Yeah, but I've never planned to shoot down a plane full of fucking civilians, Mello."

"If that's what—"

Matt stands up and scrubs his hands through his hair. He maybe even pulls a little, because the pain distracts him from the buzz in his head, "Do not fucking say if that's what it takes. Killing innocent people shouldn't be what it takes. We're not any better than him then."

Mello sighs and looks away, and Matt feels like he may be sick.

"He's a criminal, Matt. We're nothing like him."

"Not yet, but if we do this, we're on a whole new plane of existence. A whole new goddamn level of shit, and we can't come back from that. We can't. That blood will be on our hands."

"Like that matters in this world," Mello says, rolling his eyes, "Everybody has blood on their hands now."

"That doesn't make this okay, Mello."

"I'm not saying it does, but we don't have a choice."

"Of course we have a fucking choice!" Matt's voice breaks a bit, and he swallows hard and tries to ignore the look on Mello's face, "There's always a choice."

"How can you even say no," Mello asks, and his tone is hard and angry, like he's reached the end of his patience, "Look what he's done to us. Look what he's taken from us. Our families. Our lives."

"Him!" Matt yells, "Light did this! Light. Not those people in that plane that are gonna die because of it. What are we taking from them, then? Innocent people will die because we deemed this the best damn solution when it isn't."

"I can't believe we're even debating this," Mello says, shaking his head. Matt just starts toward the door, shoving his boots on as he goes; "Where exactly are you going?"

"Back to L's. You may think this is the best damn idea ever, but I'm sure that Naomi and Linda won't," Matt grabs his coat off his nearby chair,

"They'll listen to reason. And if that doesn't work, then I'm done. I'm done. I can't do this, I can't be a part of this anymore, if this is where it's going."

Mello makes a face at him, "Why did you even join up with L, if you're so opposed to his way of doing things?"

"Jesus, are you kidding me? For _you_!" Matt snaps, "I had to get you out and this was the only way I could! And I've hated every damn minute of it. I don't give a damn about Light or L or any of it, Mello, I care about you!"

The resulting silence is nearly deafening. Even Near has stopped and gone still and is looking at him from around one of giant towers. Mello looks shell-shocked, like he's having a hard time comprehending everything. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and Matt feels his stomach twist uncomfortably as he realizes he's said way too much without really meaning to.

"Mello," he tries, "Say something."

"What… what do you want me to say?"

"Anything."

"Matt—"

"Oh, Jesus," Matt reaches up to run his hand through his hair. He feels anxious and fidgety and like the house is too small, "I gotta… I gotta go."

"Matt!"

But he doesn't let Mello finish. He just slips out into the hallway, yanks his hood up, and starts walking.

* * *

 

Matt drives aimlessly for what feels like hours.

Really, it’s only been just over an hour. But he feels restless and too warm, like there’s electricity humming under his skin, and he can’t stop it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, if he should just go home, or if he should go talk to Linda and Naomi, or if he should just lock the doors and drive the car off the nearest pier. He has no doubt that Naomi and Linda would agree with him that this plan is awful.

Matt’s even sure that Lidner would agree with him.

It’s the fact that Mello doesn’t.

That, and whatever weird brain-to-mouth malfunction he had earlier has left him feeling unbalanced. He’s usually a lot more controlled than that. He’s got his shit together, most days, and that…whatever it had been wasn’t him. But that didn’t change the fact that he meant what he had said. He doesn’t give a damn about this anymore. All his previous investment in helping L had been to locate and get Mello out of that prison.

And now that he had, was there any point in carrying on with this?

The really unpleasant part about this is that it's not the first time it's crossed his mind. He had been questioning his loyalties since New York, since all those people died, needlessly, because Light believed he had figured them out. And while Mello seemed to hold no sense of responsibility for it, Matt did. That had been their fault, both of theirs, and for what? For more innocent people to die, in a senseless and horrible way?

Matt scrubs a hand over his face then climbs out of the car. He had been parked in front of L's compound for over fifteen minutes, staring at the door to the building like it would give him answers, like it would open and angels would come out and herald his decision as righteous and good.

So far, the only thing that had come close was the mail man, dropping off a rolled up newspaper.

Not exactly the sign from above he was hoping for.

He finds Naomi inside before anyone else. She's channel surfing, head in her palm, cup of coffee next to her on a side table. She looks up when he comes in and smiles.

"Hey, how are—are you okay?"

Matt shrugs, "I guess. Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," she thumbs the volume down and pats the spot next to her, "What's wrong?"

"I just… this whole plane business," Matt doesn't know if he should let her draw her own conclusions, or just spit it out, "There's… I told L some stuff about it, and he pretty much doesn't care. At all."

"Some stuff?"

"That plane," Matt looks toward the TV, focuses on Takada's overly cheerful smiling face, "It's not just going to have Light's people on it. It's going to have normal, everyday people. Lots of them."

"And you told L that?"

"Second I knew," he says, starting to pick idly at one corner of his fingernail, "he blew it off like it was no big deal."

Naomi sighs, leans back into the couch and tips her head back. Matt glances toward her.

"I had hoped he wouldn't be this drastic, but I knew I was being optimistic. L is… he really believes that the end will justify his means of getting there."

"He may be okay with that blood on his hands, but I'm not."

"I know," Naomi touches his hand, stills his fidgeting. Blood has welled up next to his fingernail, and he scowls down at it, "Nobody expects you to be."

"L does."

"L knows, otherwise he wouldn’t have lied," She smiles, "Nobody is going to blame you for leaving."

Matt's eyes snap up to her, "You—"

"Oh, Matt, come on," She laughs, this familiar, easy sound, "it's been there since you got back. I'm not an idiot. I know why you stayed. It was all for Mello."

"Yeah, but.... L isn't going to let me just walk away from this."

"How is he going to stop you?"

Matt just looks at her, and Naomi has the decency to not look smug about figuring him out so easily. She squeezes his hand, and he looks away, to the TV again.

"I just—"

Something on screen makes him pause, and he slowly rises to his feet as he comes to the realization that that's his car on TV, that's the front of this building on the news. Naomi's asking him what's wrong before she turns to the TV, too, and the remote clatters to the floor as she stands up abruptly. Raid on L's compound is written in across the television, and she's moving away from him, running for the door. Matt goes after her.

Linda meets them in the hallway just as the front doors bang open. They're made of glass, and it goes flying everywhere as voices shout at them to get on their knees, hands up. Matt doesn't think he can move, doesn't think he can breathe. He grabs Linda, instinctively, crushing her close to his body. She clings onto his shirt, buries her face into his collarbone, and he puts one hand up.

Naomi does the same, but he can see her gun, against her back pocket.

"Don't shoot," she says, but she's reaching for her gun, slowly, "Civilians. Don't shoot."

They fire anyway.

She jerks backwards and hits the ground. Linda starts screaming, and Matt thinks he might be, too. He lets go of Linda to drop down beside Naomi, ripping off his jacket to press to the bloody wound on her shoulder. She's blinking up at him, gritting her teeth.

"Don't die," he says, and he might sound kind of frantic, but he's not sure, "Come on, Naomi!"

Linda has fallen to her knees next to him. Then there's a gun being pointed in his face, and when he looks up, it takes him a second to realize that he's staring up at Light Yagami.

"Take me to L. Now."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh hi friends!  
> Happy holidays to all the lovely people celebrating something this week!   
> things have been hella hectic as per the season, so i'm so sorry this is late. like I always am. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's still reading this & leaving me comments and giving me kudos. I can't believe how wonderful you all are. 
> 
>  
> 
> JUST A HEADS UP THO  
> the warnings do apply for this chapter so just be aware. I don't want to spoil anything, but keep it in mind. c:

Matt has blood on his hands.

It's dried and itchy, and he feels numb. One of Light's men has a gun pressed firmly to his temple as he walks down the hallway, leading them to L. He thinks he should be crying. Linda is. He can hear her sobs, and he knows as long as he hears her, she's alive. She has to stay alive. He can't have her die too. He can't even think about her being shot point-blank in the head.

Matt keys in the code to the main meeting room, and the door swings open. L is waiting, perched in his chair, thumb to his lips. He smiles.

"Hello, Light."

Light's lips twist into a sneer, "You've lost."

"It seems so," L's eyes shift to Matt. Something unreadable flickers across his expression before he turns his focus back to Light, "May I ask how?"

"Does that really matter?" Light asks. Then he sighs, like explaining is such a burden to him, "I've known where you've been for a long time, L. One of your people slipped up and made contact with the mafia in New York. They gave me everything, and I had them followed here."

Matt thinks he might throw up.

"Clever."

"I knew you wouldn't slip up; you're too careful for that. But one of your people… I knew they were liable to make a mistake. And they did."

L hums, "And you came personally. That's so kind of you. I know you're a busy man."

"You slipped away alive last time. I came to make sure the job is finished. Nothing more, nothing less."

"So, this is checkmate."

"Absolutely."

"Ah," L turns away, back to the screen, and Light frowns, "A public execution. That's awfully dramatic, wouldn't you say?"

"I want the world to see you dead," Light says, and he reaches an arm out to the guard. The gun at Matt's temple is lowered and then passed off. Light raises his hand to point it directly at L, "Now, face me. I want to see you die."

L looks back over one shoulder, "That seems highly unnecessary."

"I wasn't asking you."

L sighs, turns his chair, then slowly stands. Light closes the gap between them and presses the barrel of the gun to his forehead. L doesn't even flinch. Matt wants to move, but he feels stuck, like he's rooted to the ground. The hammer clicks, and he takes a step toward L, but the man beside him grabs his arm and yanks him into place.

"It's been fun, hasn't it?" L asks, "One more move, and I may have won."

"Maybe," Light laughs, "But that's not the case. You were never a worthy adversary. I win, L. Just like I always do."

L smiles, like he's found peace, like none of this is awful and terrifying and real, "Goodbye then, old friend."

Light fires.

Blood sprays up across the monitor. Matt looks at the ground and tries to block out the sound of L's body hitting the floor. When he looks back up, Light has turned around and is quietly wiping the blood off his face, off the gun, his hands, like he didn't just kill a man with a bullet to the forehead. There's blood on his shoes. Matt feels nauseous, and Light's never looked more like a monster.

"What do we do with them?"

Matt's thankful that the guard has his arm in a vice grip. His knees feel weak. He's not sure he could stand on his own, even if he wanted to.

"Leave them," Light says, folding up the bloody cloth to tuck into his pocket, "They're not worth the bullets."

The guard lets him go, and Matt feels his legs buckle. He hits the ground, distantly registering cool linoleum beneath his palm, and the door clicks shut behind him. He barely hears it as he pulls himself back upright and creeps closer to L's prone body.

His eyes are blank, looking up at the ceiling and the wound to his forehead is gaping and ugly. Light killed the most important part of him, blew his brains everywhere because that was all he could do, and Matt's hand presses to his mouth to keep himself from throwing up.

"I'm sorry," he manages, kneeling down to close his eyes. He deserves that much, at least. L's skin is still warm, and blood seeps into his jeans, "I'm so...oh, Christ, I'm so sorry."

He should have done more, should have—

Shit, Linda.

Matt gets up and makes his way back down the hallway. Light's shoes left bloody footprints. When he gets back to Linda, she’s hunched against the wall. She has blood on her arms and her hands, and she looks up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Naomi is still, but she's breathing. His jacket is still pressed to the wound, though now it looks like it's been tied properly around her shoulder.

"Is he—"

Matt nods, and she looks away.

"Is Naomi… alive?"

Linda swallows audibly and reaches up to wipe the stray tears from her cheeks. Blood smears across her skin, but her tears trace tracks back through it, "She needs a hospital… I already, I mean, I called an ambulance but I… Oh, God, what are we going to do?"

Matt moves over and sits himself down next to her. He slumps down against the wall, and her hand grabs onto his like a vice. Her fingers are trembling.

"We're gonna… Shit, we'll be okay."

He wishes he could believe himself. Linda looks at him and then leans in closer, pressing herself against his side. Matt wiggles his hand free to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

"How did he… how did he even find us?" Linda says through sniffles, "I thought… I thought we would be safe. That he couldn't… I don't understand."

Matt opens his mouth to reply, but Linda's cellphone starts chirping. She digs it out and hands it to him. He takes it, ignores the blood smeared across the screen, and presses it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Matthew," It’s Roger, and Matt remembers distantly, right, Roger is away. Roger has been overseas for the past few months. "I saw the news. Are you… what happened? Is L—"

"He's gone, Roger," Matt's voice shakes, and Linda's head settles against his collarbone. It feels like she's crying, quietly, and Matt wishes he knew how to make things better, "He's… Christ, when are you coming?"

"I'll be catching the next flight. Is everyone else okay?"

"Linder and Gevanni are… they're in the States," Matt inhales, "Linda and I are fine, but Naomi… She's hurt. We're waiting for the ambulance now but—Roger, please, just get here. I can't do this. I don't know what to do."

"Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Matt doesn't say anything else. He just hangs up, and that's about the time the ambulance shows up.

That's also about the time Mello shows up. He shoulders past the people assessing Naomi and makes a beeline right for Matt, who stands up to meet him. Mello wraps him into a tight hug the second he's close enough.

"I thought you'd be dead," Mello says, pulling away. He seems surprised by the blood all over his clothes, and he immediately starts to look him over, "You're—are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm—Mello, I'm fine. It's not my blood. Stop, stop, I'm okay. It's mostly Naomi's and L's."

Mello stops short, "What?"

Matt belatedly kicks himself, "I… he's gone. Light won."

He doesn't get to say anything else after that because Mello jerks him back into a tight hug, and his hand presses to the back of his head to guide him to the curve of his neck. His skin smells fresh and clean, and it's cool against his. There's something so stupidly comforting about it that Matt can't help but hug him back.

"I thought I'd find you dead," Mello's voice is quiet, "You scared the shit out me, you asshole."

Matt doesn't say anything. He can hear Linda talking to one of the paramedics, the sound of Naomi being loaded up to be taken to the hospital, but he can't make himself do anything other than hold onto Mello.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Mello is petting his hair. Matt feels pathetic, scared and shaken and weak, and he hates himself more and more as he finally makes himself pull back from him. He's not a child. He doesn't need someone to coddle him, and Matt takes a step back to put more space between them. Mello frowns, but doesn't question it.

"I'm going to the hospital," Linda says, looking between the paramedics wheeling Naomi away and him, "You… you should go home. Clean up. Get some rest, before you come over."

Matt wants to protest because Linda is just as bloody as he is, but she's walking away already. He feels like he's running in slow motion, like everything is a delayed response, because he has to wade through thick fog to make sense of it. He can't make sense of it, though. That's the thing. Light had said that the mafia had given them away, and he glances at Mello, who is watching Linda and Naomi go.

"Rod gave us up," Matt says quietly, "That's how Light found us..."

Mello doesn't say anything, even as one of the paramedics wheel L's body, wrapped in dark plastic, past them. Reality hits him like a punch to the throat. He feels winded, suddenly, like he needs to sit down.

"This isn't our fault."

Mello's voice sounds hollow and far away, and the lights overhead are too bright. He swallows thickly and tries to remember how to breathe.

"It has to be someone's fault," Matt says. He feels like he's not inside himself, "We brought him here."

"Rod did."

"No," Matt starts toward the door. He needs air, fresh air. Everything in here smells faintly metallic, almost coppery. His skin itches. Mello follows close behind him, and when he steps outside, the rain immediately soaks him through his shirt, "We've lost. Don't you get that?"

Mello frowns at him, "Stop that. Get yourself together, Matt, Christ. This isn't like you. We can regroup, figure out a plan."

Matt wants to believe it, and it's hard not to. Mello looks so damn earnest when he looks back at him. Instead he just shakes his head. "I'm done," he says, and Mello frowns, "I'm out. I quit."

"What do you mean, you quit? You can't just… what?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" Matt snaps, even though he doesn't mean to do it. He feels out of control, like everything is just snapping under the pressure, and, Christ, there's bloody water dripping off his fingertips. He watched L die and did nothing to stop it, "I said I'm done. I want out."

"Don't."

"Don't what? I just saw… Jesus, I don't even know what just happened right now. I can't… oh, my god."

He scrubs his hands over his face and realizes a second too late that he's smeared bloody water all over himself. He wants to cry. He wants to scream and rail back against everything that had brought him to this point, standing in the rain, feeling like an absolute coward and failure.

"I need you," Mello says suddenly, "Damnit, you can't just walk away from this when I need you here. If this is going to happen, if we're going to win—"

"We aren't going to win!" Matt doesn't know how to make him understand, "We've already lost! L is dead and I… It's over, Mello. It's just over."

"As long as we're breathing, it's not over," Mello sounds so serious, so unwavering. Matt feels this pathetically small part of himself start to hate Mello, "We can still beat this thing."

"Just… just shut up."

Mello frowns, "This isn't like you."

"What the fuck do you even know about me?" Matt demands, "I mean… I mean, really, what do you fucking know? You don't know shit about me, Mello, so just shut the fuck up."

"I know this isn't you," Mello steps closer and takes his hands in his, "You're letting this get to you, and you shouldn't. You didn't do this. Light did. Remember?"

Matt's head snaps up from looking at their joined hands to find Mello's eyes. Mello is smiling, and even though it's weak and fragile, it's there.

"And I promise you, we are going to take him down. We will. Together."

He steps a little closer, and their foreheads bump. Mello's hair is slicked down from the rain, and Matt closes his eyes, savours the body heat coming off him, his hands still in his. When Mello's mouth slots over his, he barely realizes it. He jerks backwards when he does, but Mello is still smiling, calm, like he's completely aware of what just happened.

Matt doesn't know quite what propels him forward, but he pushes his mouth back to Mello's, kisses him like a man dying, like it’s the last thing he'll ever do, and his one hand tangles into his hair, the other cupping his face. His scar feels rough under his fingers, and Mello bites at his lip.

Matt wonders if he actually did die.

It's Mello who pulls back this time, and there's something different in his eyes. They're impossibly dark, pupils blown wide, but the thin ring of blue is bright, bluer than Matt's ever seen.

Matt tongues his lower lip, and Mello smirks at him before he reaches out to brush some of his wet hair out of his eyes, "We should get you home and cleaned up. You're a mess."

He can't really argue with that. He is, covered in other people's blood and soaking wet. Mello squeezes his hand and starts to lead him toward the car. Matt knows he feels better now, a lot less out of control, but he doesn't know how long it'll last. He knows it’s only temporary, and that this isn't forever.

But for now, he can pretend it is. He can pretend that he’ll settle into this like he always has, pretend that nothing else is real besides Mello, next to him, his hand firm on his knee as he pulls the car onto the road.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. This got away from me in a really bad way.   
> But I'm back, and I'm going to try and post more frequently, I promise.
> 
> Mega giant huge thank you to Greenmage128 for beta reading this, as per usual. this chapter was a bit of a hot mess before she came in and made it readable.

There's a beautiful, blissful moment, right when Matt wakes up, that everything is okay.

Nothing has changed. Nothing has happened. Everything is exactly the way it should be, and he wakes up slowly, head pillowed on Mello's chest. He can hear his heart beating, over the sound of the TV across the room. Mello's fingers are tracing absent minded patterns along the length of his spine and over his shoulder blades. There's rain pattering against the window, against the balcony, and his computers are humming.

Everything is still okay. Whatever happened had been nothing but a bad dream.

Except then it all starts to creep back. Takada is reporting about riots in the US and Canada regarding L's death, and he can still smell the metallic tang of blood, even though he's clean. His hair is still sort of damp against the back of his neck.

Matt distantly remembers falling into bed after his shower and passing out almost immediately, lulled by the sound of Near and Mello talking in the living room. The memory is jittery and out of focus, coming back to him in chunks.

Mello seems to notice that he's awake, and he shifts enough to look down at him, his hand stilling against his back.

"Hey… how are you feeling?"

Matt doesn't quite know yet. He feels disjointed, numb almost, so he shrugs. Mello reaches for the remote and thumbs the volume down, and Matt's thankful. He sits up and rubs a hand through his hair. It's sticking up in weird angles, since it dried funny, and he has no pants on. He does have a single sock on, though. That's something.

"You tried to get dressed, but you kind of gave up," Mello offers, "You've been asleep for almost a whole day. You should eat something."

"I'm not… really hungry."

"You should eat something anyway."

The thought of food is repulsive. Matt shakes his head and shifts to get comfy, turning to face the TV properly, tucking his legs up closer to his chest. He has bruises on his knees.

"Have you heard from Linda?"

"Earlier, yeah," Mello sits up too, slides out from under the blanket, and Matt turns his head to look at him, "Naomi's doing okay. She's out of surgery. Linda was down in the cafeteria when she called, said she was still asleep."

It's a relief, but it doesn't mean anything. She could still not make it. It's still touch-and-go, at best. Mello leans over and presses his lips to his cheek.

"I'm going to make you breakfast."

It's still strange, and he likes the way Mello kisses him, but it feels sort of muted and far away. That happy clench in his gut has been overshadowed by everything else, and he looks down at his bruised knees. Mello's hand catches his chin and rubs over the fine line of stubble.

"You should shave too," he teases, "Get some pants on. Near'll want to see you."

"Since when do you give a shit about what Near does or doesn't want?"

Mello rolls his eyes, "Just do it."

Then he's alone, really alone, and Matt slumps down a bit, stretches his legs out and pulls the covers over them. He doesn't want to get up or do anything, really. He needs more sleep. Who knew sorrow could be so exhausting?

The door creaks open, though, and Near pads in. He crawls into his bed, curls against him, cool and solid, and Matt feels another twist of something sad deep down. He wraps an arm around him and tries to find comfort in the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"I want to make it better," Near says, "But I don't think I can."

"I don't think so either," Matt admits, and Near's curls tickle against his jaw, "Not yet."

"Would it be appropriate to apologize? I am aware I am not at fault. But I am sorry that you are suffering."

Matt lets himself smile, and he closes his eyes, "Thank you."

Near seems satisfied with that, at least, and he takes Matt's hand in his and holds on. It's a different sort of comfort than with Mello, less emotional and more of a physical one. Near reminds him that he lived, he's still around, Light didn't kill him.

(And as hard as he tries to forget it, he can't, he can't get the spray of blood of his mind, or the sound of the gun, ripping through the only part of L worth saving, his body crumpling to the floor, used up and useless.)

"Do you need to cry?"

Matt doesn't know, so he shakes his head and pulls Near a little closer. His toes are cold. Near stays with him until Mello comes back, and Matt's mostly asleep when they switch places, Mello easing in beside him. He can tell the difference almost immediately. Mello is warmth and hard lines. He smooths his hair back from his face and kisses his cheeks, and when Matt finally does doze off, he doesn't dream, and he's thankful.

* * *

 

The hospital coffee tastes like shit.

Matt's sucking back his third cup just to stay conscious as he waits outside Naomi's room. The hallway smells like strong antiseptic and something else, something that makes the hairs on his neck prickle upward. He wants to go in, but Mello won't let him.

They'd gotten a call from Linda fifteen minutes ago, claiming Naomi had woken up. She's sitting across from him, in the clean clothes they brought her, but her tennis shoes are still stained. She has blood under her nails, and her hair isn't clean.

"Are you okay?"

She's looking up at him. Matt lifts his eyes from the tiles and shrugs. She stands up after a second and sits down next to him. He's always seen her as his little sister, but something has shifted between them, something has aligned them and put them on this downward spiral together.

"Are you?"

Linda laughs, this tiny, hollow sound, "Not even close."

"Then why are you asking me?"

"You're stronger than me," she says, "You're much braver. You're not afraid of anything."

Matt wants to laugh, but all he manages is a grim smile, "I'm a fucking coward."

Linda doesn't say anything else. They sit in silence, side by side, and Matt thinks they probably look pretty pathetic, her with her dirty hair and blood-stained sneakers, him with his unshaved chin and tired eyes. What a sight they must be. Matt takes another long sip from his coffee cup. It's cold and too bitter.

The door to Naomi's room opens then, and Near steps out, quietly sitting himself down next to Linda. He looks over at Matt.

"Mello says you can come in."

Why the hell he couldn't before is beyond him, but he stands up and goes in, regardless. Naomi looks frighteningly pale, in that bed, her dark hair all around her. She smiles when she sees him.

"Oh, Jesus, you are okay," she reaches a hand to him. It's full of tubes, and Matt hesitates before he steps close enough to curl her fingers in his, "Not even a scratch."  
"I wasn't worth the bullet."

Matt doesn't know why he says that. Naomi frowns. Even Mello gives him a look from the window he's standing beside, and Matt shakes his head to refocus himself. He can’t drag her down with whatever bullshit he had in his head. It isn't fair to her.

"How are you feeling?"

"My shoulders a little sore," she admits, "But the pain killers are good, so that helps. Mello tells me that L is… Is it true? They won't let me watch the news."

"Yeah," Matt swallows and pushes back the image of L's dark, dead eyes, staring up at him, "Light… checkmate, I guess."

"Did you—?"

"Yeah," Matt shrugs, "Yeah. I was there."

Naomi's fingers squeeze at his but it’s weak. She's definitely in rough shape, and Matt really wishes he had a smoke right about now. He could use a whole pack, truth be told. But it had been ruined in the rain, and he hasn't gone to get more. He knows he should, really, because he's going to need it.

"It's going to be okay."

He wishes she wouldn't do that, wouldn't try to comfort him when she's the one who is lying in the hospital bed. She had to bear the physical part of it, and she nearly died because of it. He supposes it's a mercy they didn't put one between her eyes, like L.

It always comes back to that, somehow.

Naomi's hand eases away from his and reaches up to brush some of his hair away from his eyes. She taps his forehead, and he frowns.

"You're too much in here," she says, "You can't do that, okay? Promise me you won't do that."

Matt doesn't know what to say, so he just doesn't say anything at all. Naomi frowns at him, and looks like she wants to say more, probably tell him off, but the nurses come in and start to herd him and Mello out the door, saying something about Naomi needing her rest, and no more visitors for today, go home.

Everything feels fuzzy and dull. Linda wants to stay at the hospital, make sure Naomi isn't alone. She says she's fine. Mello tries to argue with her, but he clearly doesn't know how stubborn she can be, when she puts her mind to it. It used to make him crazy, but now he's just sort of thankful for it.

(Stronger than her, what bullshit that is.)

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm posting a second chapter to make up for the long delay in updating.  
> I know next to zero about hacking. roll with this, please? I'm running on what I've seen on TV and the odd article I could find on google. 
> 
> Thank you to Greenmage128 for the beta!

They're having a meeting in his living room.

Lidner and Gevanni are back but only just barely. The situation in America has deteriorated beyond the scope of their imaginations. There are riots. The airports have closed. People are fighting back, and Matt thinks this is just like the first time L died, except he isn't coming back.

Matt can hear them talking in hushed tones. He's stretched out on his bed, under the covers, watching Near as he assembles his towers, building them up in a maze across his bedroom floor.

"Why do you do that?"

Near glances at him, "Do what?"

"The toys," Matt says, digging himself up from under the covers, "You're like… my age."

"It helps me think."

Matt opens his mouth to say something but finds he has nothing to say. Near watches him, for a second, before he turns back to his tower.

"Why do you do that?" he asks, "Lay in bed, I mean. You've hardly moved all day."

Matt doesn't know. He doesn't have an answer. He wishes he did, but he can't think of a reason why he can't make himself bother with anything. He knows he's frustrating Mello. He's frustrating himself. But he just shrugs his shoulders and burrows back down under his blanket again. Near sighs.

He wishes he could hear their little meeting better. Mello had told him to sit in the living room, but he just can't be fucked doing that. He's still a little curious, though. So, he slips out of bed, weaves around Near's toy tower, and presses his ear to his bedroom door.

"I guess I can see if Matt can do it," That's Mello's voice, "I'm sure he knows how to get into their servers and get that video out of their hands. That'll definitely settle down some of the riots."

"Hiding the footage isn't going to change the fact that it's out there," Lidner says, "It's not something you can forget. Seeing that crazy bastard with his gun on L like that… people remember that."

"Yes, well," Gevanni says, "We don't have many other cards to play right now."

"Are you sure Matt's even going to be able to do it?" Linda, "He seems… pretty out of it."

"He's fine."

Matt leans back from the door. He can't make out their words anymore. Instead, he slides into his computer chair, careful of Near's towers, and clicks the monitor on. Near's watching him, curious, but he doesn't say anything in way of explanation.

He logs in and starts to comb through the various back doors he has open, buried and hidden within files and… Ah ha. There's Takada's station.

He slips in and starts to search. Matt knows he'll have to close the door after himself when he logs out, especially since he plans on removing their footage entirely. Generally, that was against his rules, but fuck rules for this particular moment.

The file itself isn't hard to find. It's buried in a database of other videos, stock footage and old milestone news events. Of course, L's murder is kind of important, and he quietly shuffles the file away and then systematically starts to delete everything else they have. Because he can. He has control. His other computer dings to alert him that they'd caught on.

Too bad, Matt thinks, bringing up another proxy to reroute himself out of somewhere deep in Russia. Near is watching, quietly curious. Matt glances at him, breathes out and then resumes working.

His bedroom door whips open so fast that it topples one of Near's towers.

"Matt?" It's Mello, and he looks a little surprised to see him up and out of bed. His shirt is still dirty, and he probably has sleep in his eyes but he's vertical, "What... are you doing? Are you—?”

"You wanted me to get the footage? I got the footage."

"Were you eavesdropping?"

Gevanni comes up behind Mello, "They've gone to a technical difficulty screen. What's— What's he doing?"

Matt tunes them out, though he thinks he sees Mello shrug his shoulders.  As soon as the last video is removed, he quietly leaves one corrupted file, titled "suck it Yagami", and then closes out and seals off the backdoor.

"It's back on!"

 Matt flicks his TV on. Takada looks like her feathers have been ruffled. She's whispering quietly to someone off camera, though she clears her throat and looks forward again.

"We apologize for the delay," she says, "We are currently experiencing several technical difficulties with our server and databases and are working on a solution. Until then, our developing story on the national unrest will be on hold. Again, we sincerely apologize for the inconvenience."

Mello is staring at him.

"What did you do."

Matt shrugs and stands up, shuffling back to his bed to flop face first into his pillow, "Tripped them up. Foot, meet my rope."

"Yeah, but… how?"

"I deleted everything," Matt says, shimmying back under his blanket. Near laughs quietly; "Saved a few things, but everything else is gone. Poof. Bye bye."

"...Why?"

"Because I'm a spiteful dildo, and I can."

Mello is still staring. Gevanni and Lidner are, too, just past his shoulder. She frowns, a little, though.

"And if they track you down? After what just happened—"

"A, this is not amateur hour. B, they can't. They think I'm in Siberia, for one, and, for two, the backdoor I used has been there for months, and now it's gone. They won't find me. They can't."

She doesn't look entirely convinced. Matt doesn't care, truthfully. They'd questioned if he could, so he had.

"I got what you wanted. So you're welcome."

"You could have put us all at risk," Gevanni tries, "That wasn't necessarily the route we were going to take."

"Look, I'm in that stupid video. You think I want my face being broadcast everywhere? It had to go. Now I'm the only one with a copy. I'll be sure to share."

Lidner sighs, rubs at her temple, and Gevanni doesn't look like he knows where else to go with his argument, so Matt knows he's won.

Mello just huffs, and then his bedroom door clicks shut, and he feels this grim sort of satisfaction, deep down.

* * *

Linda makes really killer chocolate chip cookies.

Matt learned that pretty early on. She's currently bustling around his kitchen, tidying and baking, chattering on about something. Mello and Near are out, getting groceries, and Matt isn't sure why Mello took him along, but he's kind of glad that he did.

He hasn't slept in almost two days.

After he got into the news server, he hadn't been able to fall asleep, not entirely. Mostly he ended up playing Xbox on mute, while Mello slept on oblivious next to him. But it's catching up, and he's exhausted, more than he's been in a long time. His bouts of sleeplessness did come and go sometimes, but this feels fundamentally different.

Or maybe he was just slowly going insane from lack of sleep. He can't tell anymore. Could be both.

"Are you listening?"

"Truthfully, not really."

"Wow, I'd almost say you're back to your old unbearable self. Can you not?" She gives him a look over one shoulder, before she slides her tray of cookies into the oven and shuts the door, "I said, the compound is almost cleaned up. And I talked to Roger this morning, he's finally found a flight back to London, so he'll be here tonight."

"You think we're going to the compound again?"

"Well, yeah," Linda leans her back against the counter, "What else are we going to do? Hold meetings in your living room? We don't have any place else to go."

"You want to go work in a place where Naomi almost died? Where L did die? Please tell me you've lost it. You drank some suspicious Kool-Aid."

"Don't be a dummy," Linda rolls her eyes, pushes off the counter and goes to the fridge. She opens the door and peeks in, looking like she's searching for something,

"Like I said, where else can we go?"

"Anywhere but there."

"Matt—"

"Jesus, Linda, what the actual hell were you thinking?"

"It wasn't my idea, okay?" Linda straightens, empty-handed, "Gevanni and Lidner thought it would be for the best. What was I supposed to do?"

"Tell them no? That might be one place to start."

She gives him a withering look and shuts the fridge door, "Don't be a dick."

"But I'm so good at it."

"Look, even Roger agrees that this is the best idea."

Matt isn't surprised, "Roger wasn't even fucking there. How would he know what's the best idea?"

"I was there," she says, folding her arms across her chest, "We asked Naomi, and she's fine with it, so that's means it's just you who's raising a stink about it."

"Because it's a dumb fucking idea."

"Oh, what do you care?" Linda sounds annoyed. "You’re never there anyway. You can work from here. You don't even have to get out of bed. Stop complaining."

"You can do that, too, you know."

"Except I'm not a reclusive jerk who just does whatever I want, whenever I want to," she says, frowning at him, "You know, everyone always tells me to not tell you things, and I always do, because you're my friend, but I always regret it. I swear you have the maturity level of a house plant."

"Are you really being fair to the house plant?"

Linda huffs, loudly, and rolls her eyes, "Look, I know what happened was really terrible, I do. Better than anyone. But you're being such a pain. And you're a mess. When was the last time you showered?"

"When was the last time you were here?"

Her nose wrinkles, "Matt. That's disgusting."

"Since when are you the hygiene police?" Matt glances down at the ground, mostly to try and ignore Linda's mildly disgusted look, "And why do you even care about how often I take a shower? That's weird."

"Because I'm worried about you."

"I didn't ask you to worry about me."

She rolls her eyes and turns to check on her cookies, "Nobody ever asks someone to worry about them, you jerk. It just happens. So can you just stop being… I don't know. Can you at least try?"

He really doesn't want to listen to her. He's too tired to deal with this, and it's not like he isn't fully aware of everything she's saying already. Linda just glances at him and then wanders out of the kitchen, and when she comes back, she's clutching the most heinous pair of goggles he's ever seen. She hands them off to him.

"Here. I got these for you."

Matt makes a face, "You're joking."

"No. They kind of reminded me of you. Plus they'll hide the dark circles under your eyes so nobody will have to worry about you. That should make you happy."

"Wow, when did you turn in to Queen Bitch?"

"Shut up," She goes back to the oven and kneels down to peer inside, "I'm making you cookies. I'm hardly a Queen B."

Matt putts the goggles on just to spite her.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so overdue. The past few months have been really hectic and crazy and I definitely let this fall to the wayside. If you're still reading and following this, thank you! I love you all. You're all so amazing and so wonderful and I appreciate each of you.
> 
> i also love Greenmage128 cause she made this hot mess readable and not garbage.

Mello is sitting in the living room, at a quarter past three in the morning. He's staring intently at one of Near's puzzles, one of the pieces in his fingers. Matt watches him for what feels like forever. Then, Mello turns his head to look at him, and he frowns.

"What's on your face?"

"Linda gave them to me," He moves to sit next to him. The couch groans, "We should probably talk."

"You want to talk?"

"Not really, no," he sighs, pushes the goggles up onto his forehead. It makes his hair stick up at funny angles, "But we still should."

"Are you going to pull your head out of your ass?" Mello asks, setting the puzzle piece back into its proper spot, "Stop sleeping all day, not bathing, not getting out of bed?"

Matt shrugs, "The sleeping thing, yeah. I haven't slept in, like, three days."

Mello looks at him. Matt sighs, leans back in the couch, and rubs at his eyes.

"Why not?"

"I don't know, it happens sometimes," This is kind of off-topic, Matt thinks; he wanted to discuss them, personal them, but he can't make himself acknowledge it,

"Comes and goes."

"Have you been to a doctor?" Matt shrugs again. Mello makes a face, "Of course you haven't."

Silence falls around them, and Matt fidgets. Mello watches his hands, the way he picks at his hangnails, at a loose thread on his shirt. Then, he sighs.

"What did you want to talk about, Matt?"

"You kissed me. A few times."

He wishes he could be a bit more eloquent. That he could not be such an awkward loser and actually form cohesive sentences, but Mello makes him feel squirmy and fidgety and weird. Mello shrugs.

"Yeah? And?"

"Why?"

"Christ, I don't know. Why not?"

Matt was hoping for more of an explanation. What kind of explanation, exactly, he doesn't know. A reason, maybe.

"So you just… wanted to kiss something, and I was the nearest living object?"

Mello sighs loudly and makes a face at him, "That isn't even close to what I said."

"Then why did you—?"

"I don't know," Mello says, a little louder, "I just did. Why? Is that why you've been acting like such a vegetable?"

"No," Matt shrugs, "It just seems... I don't know. I just don't get it."

"What is there to not get?"

Well, this is going exactly nowhere. Matt frowns down at his hands and slumps into the couch. Maybe the damn thing will swallow him up, and he won’t have to deal with this. He had been hoping for a real conversation, with answers and reasons and logic, but Mello seems content with dodging any question related to it

Though, he's more than happy to talk about every single one of his personal flaws. So there's that.

"Are the why's important?" Mello asks, "I mean, really. Are they important?"

"I don't know. I guess not."

"Then why are you even bothering?"

"Because I am," Matt doesn't like how defensive he sounds, and he shifts to prop his feet up on the table, "Because I want to."

"Well, don't."

"Why?"

"Because I told you not to," Mello says, "Because it isn't important. It doesn't matter. You don't need to get obsessive over something that really doesn't change the situation. There are much more important things to focus on other than why I kissed you."

Matt knows that. Christ, he knows. Light made a direct attack on them in what was supposed to be the safest place on Earth. He did that, and he did it easily. They never predicted it, never saw it coming, and now the one man who could challenge Light is dead.

Matt stands up abruptly and rubs a hand through his hair. Mello is watching him, and he looks at him for a moment before he sighs, "Then just tell me it didn't mean anything. And tell me that like you fucking mean it."

Mello frowns, "I never said it didn't mean anything. Where are you getting—"

"If you don't want me to be obsessive over this, then tell me it didn't mean anything."

"Fine. It didn't mean anything."

Mello is a shitty liar. Matt rolls his eyes. He could at least try to be convincing. Mello huffs and folds his arms across his chest, and he reminds Matt of a petulant child. He is being a child. Stupid jerk.

"You're a bad bullshitter," Matt tells him, just to be a jerk back, because, fuck it, he can, "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Shut up," Mello says, "You're the one who's making this difficult."

"Me? How am I making this difficult?"

"You've made everything difficult," Mello tells him, "Ever since... well, you know, you've been—I don't even know what to call you. But you're not the only one who lost someone, okay?"

"You think that's what's—of course you do. Of course. You would."

"If I'm so far off base with what's bothering you, then open your goddamn mouth and tell me. Tell me something. Anything, Matt, for fuck sakes."

"I don't know if you saw that footage, but I had Light Yagami shove a gun in my face. I almost died. I don't know, maybe you missed that part."

"Of course I saw that video," Mello snaps, "I was watching the news when it happened. And I saw you, and I just... I get that it was hard but—"

"You don't get it."

"Are you kidding me? I know what it's like to think the end is there. To think that there's no more, that you're as good as dead. Do you know how many nights I would go to sleep thinking that?"

Matt doesn't say anything. He doesn't really know what to say, but he feels guilty. Of course Mello would know the feeling. He's an idiot to think otherwise. He spent seven years in that hell and had managed to survive it. He probably knew better than anyone.

He sighs, and Matt can hear the couch groan as he shifts, "Instead of shutting down, fight back. You're letting this take over you, and it's pathetic. You're better than this."

Matt makes a face. Better than this, what a load of bullshit. He isn't, and he doesn't know why Mello can't see that.

"But that… it did mean something," Mello says, and Matt looks back at him again. He stands up and steps a little closer, "It does, and you know that. But you... I can't do this without you. And right now, I am. I need your help. Hell, we all do."

"You can do this without me. Don't even."

"No, I can't. And you can't do it without me, and _you_ know I'm right. We can do this. But it has to be together."

"I don't want to do this anymore," Matt says, shaking his head a bit, "And _you_ know that. I can't do this anymore. He almost wiped us off the map, Mello. He's won. And I know you want to believe he hasn't, but he has. We have nothing. We don't have any cards left to play."

"Do you think that's what L would have wanted us to do? Give up?"

"It doesn't matter what L wanted. L's dead, okay? He got his fucking brains blown out and for what? And let's just say we do take out Yagami, then what? Then who takes control? Some new lunatic? Isn't the devil we know better than the devil we don't? I mean… it's just, Christ, what if it's you, next time? Or Linda? Naomi almost died."

"That's why we fight," Mello's hands curl around his, and Matt nearly jerks backwards from his touch, "That's why. So it never happens again. So we never have to see this again."

"Don't."

"Why are you doing this?" Mello's hand squeeze on his, "What about your mom? What did she die for then?"

"I said don't."

"Matt, she died fighting, didn't she? Fighting to overthrow Light Yagami. Fighting for freedom. Why won't—"

"She died slowly, and terribly, and I don't want to die like that," Matt snaps, pulling his hands away. He feels terribly childish, all of a sudden, "She died, bleeding in the streets like a fucking dog. She died for nothing. Light's won. Light has fucking won, and I'm not going to die like she did. I won't. I can't. And I can't watch you die like that, either. But you know what? You will, because you're a fucking idiot, too. You're just as stupid as she was."

Mello's fist knocking into his jaw catches him way too off guard. Pain shoots through his face, right into his neck, and he stumbles from the impact. He can taste blood. Mello's hands are balled into fists, and his eyes are angry.

"You're such a shit!" he shouts, "We have to fight back, and what do you want to do? Hide like a bitch? Get over it, Matt, Christ! Look what they did to you! Look what Light Yagami has done to you, and do something about it! Stop being such a passive aggressive fuckwit and do something! For fuck’s sake."

Matt lunges. He tackles Mello down to the floor and pins him, cocking a fist back to knock it into his mouth.

"Fuck off!" Matt hears the bedroom door creak open as he hits him again, "What would you know about it? Huh? What, because you lived in that prison longer than me you get to tell me what to do?"

Mello flails an arm free and shoves him. He doesn't expect it, and he falls back, knocking back into the table. It topples backwards with an unexpectedly loud crash.

"At least I'm doing something!" Mello lunges, and his hands wind around his neck, "What do you do besides sleep?"

Matt thinks he sees Near, grabbing Mello's arm, trying to tug him backwards, and he wheezes as he tries to push him off by his chest.

"Mello, stop!"

Matt bends his leg back as best he can and aims for Mello's knee. He gets him in the thigh, but it's enough to throw his balance off. He falls forward, and his face collides into his collarbone which only presses the table harder into his back. Mello lets go though, and Matt gasps sharply, half-heartedly shoving at Mello's shoulders to get him off. The stupid goggles are sitting askew on his face, and he reaches up to fix them. Mello sits back, and there's blood leaking sluggishly from his lip, which is already swelling up.

"I meant get angry at Yagami. Not me. Jesus Christ."

* * *

They're meeting in his living room again.

Why it has to be his living room baffles him. Lidner, Gevanni, and Linda all have their own perfectly fine apartments to hold meetings in. Yet, here they all are, seated around his coffee table with grim expressions on their faces.

Matt's sitting as far away as he possibly can. He has one window open, and he's puffing at one of his cigarettes and actively ignoring Linda's look. She seems more annoyed by the fact that he's wearing her stupid goggles.

Lidner sighs, "We need a plan."

Matt rolls his eyes. Near slots another piece into his puzzle, and Mello keeps his eyes averted. They hadn't really spoken since the other day. Mello's lip is still swollen, and he has a bruise on his cheekbone. Nobody's asking, and neither him or Mello has offered an explanation.

"Have we considered simply executing Light Yagami?"

Near. Matt turns to look over at him as he continues to focus down on his puzzle, fitting each piece into place with a practiced ease.

Mello snorts, "Oh, yeah, because that will be easy."

"Certainly not easy," Near says, "but not impossible."

"And just how do you figure that?" Gevanni asks, "Even getting near Light Yagami will be difficult. He'll see us coming."

"Light Yagami is one man," Near sits back from his puzzle and looks toward Gevanni, "Not a god. If we get ahead of him, then we may have an element of surprise."

"And then what?" Mello demands, "So he's dead. Then what?"

"We allow democracy to dictate."

Lidner sighs, "Democracy has been gone for a long time. It might not be able to be revived. Then we've got ourselves a mighty big problem."

"People are shitty," Matt says, tapping ash off his cigarette. Near's dark eyes land on him, unblinking, and Matt meets them, "Democracy won't dictate shit. It'll be anarchy."

"What if we… let the previous world leaders resume power?" Linda asks, "Most of them are still alive."

"Let the cowards who put us in this mess in the first place take the reins again," Mello rolls his eyes, "That's not a terrible idea. Not at all."

"Well what's your bright idea then?"

The fact that Mello had argued for this point a few days ago is an irony that is not lost on Matt. Lidner exhales and rubs at her temple.

"What other options do we have? What about L's plane idea?"

"No," Matt cuts in, "No way. It's a passenger jet. We're not blowing up civilians to get at Yagami."

"The bigger issue is how to get to him period," Gevanni says, "It may not be impossible, but it's going to be pretty close to that. He's not just going to come out and let us kill him."

"We go to him," Near says, "In Japan."

"And then?" Lidner asks, frowning, "What? Knock on his door, say hello with two bullets to the brain?"

"Obviously, that wouldn't be effective," Near says flatly, looking over at her. Poor Lidner. She didn't know Near had a broken sarcasm detector, "We would have to isolate him."

Matt exhales a thin stream of smoke, "Yeah. Cause that's not impossible. He's always with that fiancée of his. Or Mikami. Never mind the Japanese police escorts."

"I believe my suggestion to isolate him would solve the problem of his near constant companionship," Near starts to disassemble his puzzle and Matt watches the quiet, rhythmic way he moves the pieces, stacking one on another, "It's a mere matter of separating him while there is a distraction."

"Again, easier said than done."

"As most things are, Mello."

"What about if we did it at Soichiro Yagami's birthday celebration in Tokyo?" Linda asks, sitting forward a bit, "He's always at that. Goes every year, without fail. At least we'd know where he is for sure."

"You want to cut him down in front of a live studio audience?" Lidner's eyebrow arches upwards.

"He did it to us," Linda says. She folds her arms across her chest, "What's the difference?"

"We're not pieces of shit?" Matt suggests, shaking his head a little as he stubs the end of his cigarette out in the ash tray, "What about a carjacking? Grab the fucker before he gets there. Or when he's leaving?"

Gevanni sighs, "And his entourage?"

"We kill them too," Mello cuts in, "All of them. Kill several birds with one stone. They're loyal to Yagami. They won't like the change."

"So, we kill them?" Matt glances over at him and ignores the face he makes, "Why don't we just bring them along then let them go. What are they going to do?"

"Killing Misa Amane and Mikami Teru shouldn't be necessary," Near says, “Not if we do this properly."

"Properly," Mello shakes his head, "There is no properly. We're talking about killing the current ruler of the entire world. What do you define as properly?"

Near gives him a bit of a withering look, one that Matt has affectionately dubbed his 'you're an idiot' glare. He doesn't even dignify Mello with a response, just turns back to his puzzle. It's clearly dismissive though, and Mello makes a face like he's just seen something horribly offensive.

Then, he's on his feet and leaving the room. Matt sighs, grabs his smokes off the table, and goes after him.

"Mello, wait."

The bedroom door slams in his face. Nearly into his face. Matt scowls at it then follows him. Mello's yanked the sliding door to the patio open and is standing out there, shivering, angrily glaring at the London skyline. Big Ben chimes distantly. It's grey and cloudy, and Matt grabs his sweater off the back of his desk chair to drape it around Mello's shoulders. Bastard better not chuck it over the edge.

"He's such a prick," Mello seethes, "I hate him."

"I know," Matt leans himself against the railing, "Believe me. I know."

"And you always take his side," he says, "You're always backing him up."

"Oh, I am not. That's a load of shit, and you know it."

"Maybe," Mello tugs the sweater tighter around himself. "You definitely like him more than me."

"I don't like anyone more than you. Least of all Near."

Mello turns his head to look at him, like he's seeing him for the first time. Matt glances at him and tries to ignore the nervous butterfly feeling in his stomach. This is stupid. They're being stupid, dancing around one another like they're being subtle and secretive. They're not. They never have been.

"So you think Near's idea is—"

"Probably going to get us all killed," Matt shakes a cigarette into his palm, slipping it between his lips. He lights up and inhales, breathing out smoke a second later, "But we're all fucked anyway, so what difference does it make? We should do something. Die fighting or whatever. For all that's worth."

Mello looks down at the railing before he leans over, plucks the cigarette from his fingers, and kisses him.

"I don't plan on dying," he says, against his mouth. His lips are chapped, "And you shouldn't either."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mello."

Mello's hands find his, and he eases between him and the railing, pressing their chests flush together. He's warm, through his thin t-shirt, and his sweater slips from around his shoulders to pool at his waist.

"Have I let you down yet?"

Matt rolls his eyes, and Mello smiles at him, really smiles, letting go of his hands to wind his arms around his middle. Then he's bowing his head to settle against his collarbone. Matt opens his mouth to say something but is just met with Mello's tired sigh.

"Just shut up and enjoy this, okay?"

So, he does.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Greenmage128 for the beta on this chapter. you are the best.
> 
> thanks to everyone who is still reading this even though I'm the actual worst at updating. i love you all.

"And Near suggested that?"

Naomi is looking better. She's not as pale, at least, which Matt is willing to count as a victory today. He leans forward and snags the Jello cup off her tray, leaning back into his chair. She rolls her eyes and hands him a spoon.

"Yup. Even says we have a sixty percent chance of success," Matt peels back the little cover and sticks his spoon in, "Great odds, right?"

"Couldn't be better," she sighs and shifts to make herself more comfortable, "And what do you think?"

"I think we're probably gonna end up dead," Matt takes a bite. It's lime, which is a little bit gross. Who even likes lime Jello? He’s really starting to question her taste, "But we're probably gonna end up dead if we don't, so, we're basically stuck between a rock and a shitty place."

"Hard place."

"Same thing."

"I didn't expect that from Near. Mello, maybe, but not Near.

Matt shrugs again, "Yeah, well, that's how it usually works, isn't it? Why Mello?"

"He just seems... willing to take extreme measures, that's all."

"Why would you think that?"

Naomi gives him a bit of a look, "He broke the three of you out of a government detention facility. That's kind of the definition of extreme, Matt."

Oh, yeah. Right. Matt shrugs and looks down at the Jello cup, pushing what's left of it around with his spoon idly.

"So are you doing it, then?"

"Well, yeah," Matt leans forward to set the cup back on the tray. He's suddenly not in the mood for lime, "We don't have a whole lot of options. Yagami's kind of got a big advantage."

"And you think killing him is the solution?"

"I don't think killing anyone is a solution to anything," Matt sits back, propping one foot on the edge of his chair, curling an arm around his knee, "But Yagami would probably be the one I'd kill, if I had to."

"And then what?"

Matt shrugs. Naomi sighs and just looks at him. Sometimes her practicality unsettled him. She sounds too much like his mom, and he can't decipher how that makes him feel.

"What happened to your neck?"

He's thankful for the change of subject, but this isn't the route he wants to take. He's starting to get finger shaped blue and purple bruises along his throat.

"Mello and I had a fight."

Naomi rolls her eyes and picks up the Jello cup, "What about?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not," She takes a bite then makes a slight face, setting the cup aside again, "I thought you wanted out of all of this."

"I thought so, too. Things change," he says, even though he doesn't really believe it himself. He does want out. But Matt isn't an idiot, and he knows how these things work, "I'll be out once he's dead."

"You're putting a lot of faith in this, hey?"

"What's the saying? Fake it 'til you make it?"

Naomi gives him a bit of a look, "I don't think that applies here," Her hand finds his, though, "As long as you're happy."

He isn't happy. Matt doesn't think he's been happy in a long time, not really, not since before this. But if this is his only option, then he thinks he can pretend. Just for a little while longer.

Fake it 'til you make it.

* * *

' _Matt, I swear to God, if you keep eating while you're supposed to be working, I'm going to fly back and hurt you._ '

Matt grins at the security feed of Lidner, who is currently fixing the camera with a very stern look, wedged between two other women in a waiting room.

"I can multitask," he says, pushing himself backwards to grab his lighter off the nightstand, "Don't worry."

She lifts her phone out and starts tapping at the screen. Matt's grin widens. She's considerably less threatening this way, and the entire continent between them didn't help her any.

' _I hate you_.'

"No, you don't," he says, taking a drag off his freshly lit cigarette, "I'm your favourite."

' _Shut up. I think the woman next to me can hear you_.'

Pointed look at the camera. Matt rolls his eyes.

"She can't hear me. She thinks you're a weirdo because you keep looking at the camera like you want to rip it off the wall."

Lidner looks back at her phone and pretends whatever it is she's doing is the most interesting thing in the world. Matt shakes his head and taps ash off the end of his smoke.

This whole thing had been Near's idea. Send someone to Japan to infiltrate Light's inner circle... another one of his easier-said-than-done plans. Takada needed a bodyguard, and as Light's chosen mouthpiece, she was a good way to get a constant lock on his location.

So, Lidner had left for Japan two days ago.

Matt's monitoring is just a backup. Really, he couldn't do anything to help her if something went sideways. But that's why Gevanni is parked out front, he supposes.

"Halle Bullock," He hears the receptionist say. Lidner slips her phone away and stands up, "She will see you now."

Matt switches screens. Takada is sitting comfortably at a desk, flipping through what must be Lidner's forged resume. She looks up when she comes in and smiles thinly.

The whole interview is uneventful, but Matt knows that Lidner's credentials impress her. Ex-Secret Service, police before that.

"So why would such a loyal American civil servant want to watch after the new regime's representative?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Lidner asks, "I know how the world works."

Takada smiles, "You will have to see him, you know."

"I expected as much."

"Will you be all right meeting with the man who overthrew your president?" Takada presses, "I would not blame you if you weren't."

"With all due respect, Miss Takada, you will be my priority. As long as you're alive, that's all that will matter."

"Kiyomi," she stands up, "You're not a religious woman, then, Miss Bullock?"

"My job comes first."

"Good," She circles around the table, "That's what I want. I can't have my personal guard being star struck when I meet with our God. I expect good things from you, and I do not accept less than perfection. Please do not forget that."

Matt doesn't think he can believe what he's hearing. Hell, even what he's seeing. But Lidner is shaking Takada's hand, thanking her, smiling. She's in. She's pulled it off and actually infiltrated Light's inner circle.

* * *

 Roger has a tan.

He's sitting in his living room, sipping tea from a worn old brown mug, looking grim and tired. Matt can relate.

"So that's the best we have, then?"

"That's all we have," Gevanni clarifies. His voice crackles at the end, the reception on the phone wavering briefly, "Halle has already been hired on as Takada's body guard, so, at the very least, we have eyes on the inside. But the rest will just be us running blind."

"L left nothing? No final instructions?"

"Matt has already cleared the servers," Gevanni sighs, "There was nothing."

Roger looks down into his cup. He stares into it for a long time, contemplative. Then he nods, "Then this is what we do. How is Naomi?"

"Recovering," Linda says, "She won't be released any time soon though."

"I see. Well, we'll have to proceed without her, I suppose."

Matt doesn't really like that idea, but he knows there isn't much they can do. The festival date is fast approaching, and they have to make their move if they want to do anything at all. He just wishes it didn't have to be now. He wants to think they have more time than this, but he knows they don't. That had already run out a long time ago.

"Lidner working for Takada is going to make a big difference," Linda says, and she sounds hopeful. Matt's always admired her optimism, "We've never had that kind of access."

"Except it's incredibly risky for her to even contact us," Roger says, "She may not be able to get a secure line. We can't really count on her."

Linda frowns. Roger sets his cup down. His hands are weathered. He adjusts his glasses before he speaks, "We have to work with what we have, no matter how minimal. This very well may be our final move against him. Either we succeed, or we don't."

The odds aren't exactly in their favour. Mello is looking pointedly at him, and Matt looks back at him. He knows what he's thinking. He knows Mello well enough by now to be able to figure out at least that much.

Are you in?

Mello arches an eyebrow. Matt rolls his eyes and looks away from him to instead focus on Roger, who has lifted his cup to sip out of again. It's strange to see him again, back home and relatively unchanged except for the dark tan of his skin. He looks older than Matt remembers him being. He supposes he must feel pretty old now. With L dead and Watari long gone, Roger is the last man standing from L's original war against Light. Halle and Gevanni, even Linda... they all came after. But being the last man standing sucked. Matt wouldn't want this.

Roger is all they have.

Linda and Roger fall into quiet conversation then, and Matt takes the lull to mean he's free to go. He wanders away, to his room and out onto the patio. It isn't raining, but the air hangs heavy with the threat of it, and he lights up a cigarette and inhales deeply.

"You've been awfully quiet lately."

Matt looks back. Mello's leaning against the sliding door frame, watching him quietly. He shrugs.

"I don't have anything important to add," he says, "Why? Does it matter?"

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"Would it make a difference if I was?"

"Yeah," Mello straightens and moves to stand next to him. His arm presses firm to his. Matt tries to ignore how warm his skin is through his t-shirt sleeve, "Did you think it wouldn't?"

"No, I knew it would," Matt takes another drag off his cigarette, "I just didn't think it was a priority."

"Why?"

"Well, because. This is the good fight. We should all want to fight it. Right?"

"I never said that."

Matt laughs, "You didn't have to."

Mello looks at him like he's never seen him before, or maybe he's seeing him for the first time. Really seeing him, properly, and for what he is. Matt looks back, and he lets himself smile. Mello frowns in return.

"I'm here. I'm doing this. That's all that matters."

"You have to—"

"I have my reasons," Matt takes another drag, "my loyalties. Leave it at that, okay?"

Mello huffs and turns to look out at the city. Big Ben chimes distantly, and Matt flicks his butt out into the open air, watching as it descends to the alley below. Mello breathes out slowly then looks at him.

"If you don't want to—"

"I want to," Matt doesn't let him finish, and he doesn't know why, "I do. I know what it means to you. And I lost you once. I'm not gonna lose you again."

Mello looks at him again. Matt nudges him with his hip.

"You're—"

"Oh, come on. Like you didn't know it all boiled down to you."

"You're risking your life because of what I want? That's so... that's stupid."

"You did it for me."

Mello doesn't say a word. He just looks at him, and then he leans over and he kisses him, square on his mouth. Matt doesn't expect it, but he doesn't jerk away from it. On the railing, Mello's fingers curl around his.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, well, look who's talking."

"You shouldn't do this for me. You should do it for you."

"I've spent the last seven years doing this for you," It's his turn to kiss him, so he does. Mello smiles against his lips, "What's a few more months?"

"And if we're killed?"

"Then we die together," Matt thinks that sounds noble. That's a death he can get behind, "Like we should. But we're not gonna die."

"You sound very sure of that."

"I am," Matt shifts and threads their fingers, "I know we won't."

"You don't know shit," Mello sounds amused, and he has this smile on his face that won't seem to break, "You're guessing."

"Nah, that's faith."

Mello laughs out loud at that, "Faith? What the fuck do you know about faith?"

Matt shrugs. Mello laughs again, and Matt thinks that's a sound he really likes. That's a sound he could get used to.

* * *

Lidner calls in three days later.

She has seen Light Yagami and she can confirm that he and Misa Amane will be attending the festival. They're leaving for Japan in the morning. No one suggests bombing their plane, and Matt is relieved. Roger just rubs the bridge of his nose and looks like he's carrying too much weight for his body.

Gevanni flies back to America that night. Near stays up, sitting in front of his towers, building them higher and higher. Mello sits behind him on the couch and watches, expression unreadable.

Matt sleeps, actually sleeps, and he doesn't dream. When he wakes up the next morning, he feels restless and uneasy. He can't shake the idea that the pieces are all falling into place, good or bad, and when he first sees Mello that morning, he knows he feels the same thing.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really have an excuse as to why this has taken so long to update. If you're still reading this, thank you and i love you.   
> thank you to greenmage128 for the beta, as per usual. you are the very best.
> 
> only five more chapters to go now!

Japan isn't the same as London.

It looks untouched by the war, like nothing has happened. Like the world isn't falling apart around them. The rioting in America hasn't stopped, but there isn't a whisper of it on the Japanese news. It's business as usual. They talk about the weather, about the upcoming festival, about Light Yagami's wedding to Misa Amane. It's kind of bizarre. Matt can't say he remembers this sort of normalcy in day to day life.

And while Matt is mostly baffled by it, Mello is angry about it.

But then again, Mello has been angry about basically everything for the past few days, so Matt doesn't know why this seems unusual.

He's hunkered himself down in their hotel room, glaring at the TV set as Matt goes about setting up the few computers he could smuggle into the country. Japan's borders had been closed since Light had taken over, except for family members travelling abroad. Getting in had been a one way trip. They weren't leaving unless they succeeded.

"These people live in some kind of fairy tale," Mello says, tone harsh and annoyed. Matt sighs, "What?"

"It's not their fault. Calm down."

"You're not mad about this?" he demands, "They're oblivious, and we're being tortured in prisons. We're dying, while they live the good life."

Matt shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. There isn't much point in arguing with him when he's worked up like this. He learned that lesson two days ago when Mello shouted at him for fifteen minutes about the injustice of having to sneak into the country like rats. Like they should be able to just stroll up to Light and shoot him point blank in the head.

Mello huffs at his lack of response then gets up and stalks over to where he's hooking up his monitors. He stares at him, watches him work.

After a few minutes, Matt gets sick of it and looks back at him.

"Can you not?"

Mello scowls, "There isn't anything on TV."

"Then go read a book."

"What happens if a maid comes in here?"

Matt sighs and flips the switch on the power bar he brought along, "They won't."

"But what if they do?"

"Then we're fucked," Matt rises to his feet and taps the space bar impatiently, "But they won't."

Mello doesn't seem satisfied by that, but he doesn't press the issue. He just sits himself back down on the bed. Matt can feel him watching him still. Sure enough, when he glances over, Mello's eyes are trained on him.

Blessedly, that's about the time someone knocks at the door. Mello goes to answer, and when he comes back, Linda's trailing behind him, clutching a folder to her chest.

"Did you see Lidner?"

"She just left," she says, as she slips her shoes off and sits on the bed, "Roger called too. Wanted to make sure we were okay."

Mello takes the folder from her and flips it open, frowning down at it before his gaze shifts to her, "There's only one press pass."

"She could only get one for me," Linda says by way of explanation, "You two are too risky. If someone saw her—"

"So what are Matt and I supposed to do?"

Matt waves a hand at him, "Relax. I should stay here and watch the monitors, in case anything goes sideways."

Mello's frown darkens.

"Look, I'm sorry, Scarface, but you're kind of hard to miss," Linda's tone is tight enough that Matt has to look at her to be sure it's really her talking, "We'll have to figure something else out."

Mello huffs, but he doesn't press it. Matt's sort of awed that she shut him up. Finally.

"What about Near?" Matt asks as he ducks under the desk, weaving one of the cables down to the power bar, "What's he gonna do?"

"Stay here, I guess."

Mello mutter something like, “Figures,” then the bathroom door bangs shut. Linda sighs.

"He's a ray of sunshine, isn't he?"

"Tell me about it."

"And you..." Linda hesitates, and Matt eases out from under the desk to look at her, "How are you?"

Matt shrugs and rises to his feet, "I'm fine."

"You're handling all this well."

"Do I have a choice?" He digs out his laptop and switches it on, "We have a job to do now. So I'm doing it."

Linda purses her lips, like she wants to say something else, but Mello comes out of the bathroom then, and the words fall away. She just breathes out then stands up.

"Well, Roger says good luck. He won't be contacting us anymore. It's too risky.  We're on our own now."

There's something ominous about that, something that unsettles him more than it should. Mello doesn't seem phased by it, and Matt isn't the least bit surprised.

"So Linda, you're gonna run point at the festival, make sure nothing goes off Near's plan?" Matt figures a change of subject might not hurt, "And Mello, you can handle cutting them off?"

Mello's returning glare is less than impressed.

"Do you think this is going to work?" Linda sounds unsure, and Matt wishes he could change that, "And what if it doesn't?"

"We can't afford to think like that," Mello says, "Because if it doesn't work, we're dead."

"It'll work," Matt flicks the power switch in his computer and watches as the row of monitors and towers light up. He wonders how convincing he sounds, "It has to."

* * *

 

Mello seems to calm down considerably after Linda excuses herself back to her and Near's room. Matt's just relieved. His tension was making it sort of unbearable to do anything.

Though, this stony silence is just about as bad.

"Are you going to say something?"

Mello looks over from where he's reclined on the bed, "About?"

"Shit, anything."

Mello gives him a look, like he doesn't know what he's going on about, and Matt wishes he would just stop being difficult. He's kind of making this worse than it needs to be.

"Since when are you Mister Chatty?" Mello sits up a bit more, "What?"

"We could die."

"We could have died in prison," His tone is dismissive, "We didn't. We won't here."

Matt wishes he could try and sound a little more convincing. He shakes his head and turns back to his monitors. The surveillance system in Japan is weak, at best, and getting past whatever security measures they have has been easier than he had thought it would be. But it's left him with more free time than he's comfortable having. It seems too easy. Like a trap.

But he's checked, and double checked, and everything on his end is secured, so Matt doesn't know why he's so restless and uneasy.

"You know what, never mind."

Mello laughs and sits up more, "Are you serious?"

Matt scowls at his monitor and doesn't say anything. The bed creaks as Mello stands up, then his arms are sliding around his neck, and Mello's breath is ghosting against his neck and ear.

"No one will die," Mello promises, hands shifting to slide his goggles up and off his face, "Certainly not you. I won't let anything happen to you."

And Christ, does he want to believe him, especially when Mello turns his head by his chin and kisses him, slow and easy. His goggles thunk against the desk, and Matt pulls back a little.

"Yeah, but—"

"Matt," his lips brush his as he speaks, and his fingers are cold against his skin, "Shut up and kiss me."

So, he does, and when he finally pulls back again, Mello watches him with darkened eyes.

"Neither of us are going to die," he repeats as Matt eases his goggles back on, "You said you had faith."

He did, but that had withered away at some point on the boat ride over from South Korea. Matt knows, regardless, that he'll survive. He's staying hidden. It's Mello and Linda who were really at risk, and he finds Mello's hand a second later, turning the chair to face him.

"If something goes wrong—"

"Stop."

"Mello, I'm serious. If something goes wrong, you gotta come back here. Get Linda and get out of there. Don't be stupid."

"Am I ever?"

"No, but you're reckless," Matt sits up enough to kiss him again, "And I can't... I don't want to lose you again."

Mello's expression softens a little, and he squeezes his hand, "I promise."

But Matt knows him, knows that he has no intention of bailing out if the ship starts to sink, and part of him loves him for lying, loves him for caring enough to do that much for him. Mello's skin is rough under his thumb as he rubs it against his inner wrist.

What had Mello called it? A dead man's promise?

Mello's free hand reaches out, and he pushes some of his hair back from his eyes. There's something quietly contemplative about his expression.

"I won't be reckless if you won't."

Then Mello smiles and leans down to kiss him again. Matt lets go of his hand to cup his face in his palms. He can feel the hard edges of his scar, and, when he pulls away, his fingers shift against it. Mello doesn't meet his gaze.

Finally, he straightens and clears his throat, like the intimacy of the moment has finally caught up to him and made him uncomfortable.

"What are you working on?"

"Organization," Matt turns back to the computer, and Mello leans against the back of the chair to look over his shoulder at the screen, "In case."

He doesn't want them to find Roger, Gevanni, Naomi or Lidner. Not because of him.

Mello watches him shuffle files around, delete some of the more unimportant ones. He closes some of the foxholes he has open, starts the methodical cleaning of his entire system. He sets up the self destruct directives, just in case, double checks his passwords. Matt scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. It's tedious.

He doesn't want to think that he'll need all these precautions, but—

Matt supposes if any of this becomes necessary, he'll either be in prison or dead. The finality of it is unsettling.

Mello's hands brush his hair back, and Matt has resist pulling back from his touch as he turns his chair to face him. It won't do any good, and, instead, he just reaches out to wrap his arms around Mello's middle, pulling him close to press his cheek to his belly. Mello tenses for a second, then his hands start to comb through his hair, and Matt is weirdly comforted by it, by his presence.

"Please, don't be stupid," His voice is muffled by his shirt, and his hands still in his hair, "I'm serious."

"I know."

"You have to come back," Matt pulls back to look up at him, "We should... What do we do after this?"

"After?"

"Yeah," Matt needs to find something good, something that isn't terrible, something he can hold on to while Mello risks his life to save the world, "Once Light is dead. What're we gonna do?"

Mello looks like he's going to argue the point, but instead he just sighs and shakes his head, "I don't know."

It's strange to think of a moment beyond this, to a time where there won't be any struggle and risk of dying. Matt isn't even sure if they can function in a world other than one like this. It's been so long since they've had to.

"I don't even know..." Matt trails off and laughs a little, "I just realized I don't know the first damn thing about you. I don't even know your last name."

"Keehl."

Matt stares blankly for a second, and Mello shakes his head and shoves at his shoulders, pushing him back into his chair.

"You're a dick."

"I didn't say a word."

Mello turns to go back to the bed, "Yeah, you didn't have to. It's different, I get it."

He's about to sit, but Matt takes the opportunity to jump up and tackle him down into the bed. Mello flails, and he's pretty sure the slew of curse words that tumble out of his mouth would make a sailor blush. It takes some maneuvering, but they eventually end up face to face, legs tangled, arm draped across one another except for the two sandwiched between their bodies, fingers entwined.

"You are a dick."

Matt grins, "Maybe a little."

Mello rolls onto his back abruptly, and Matt scoots closer to look down at him. His eyes are closed, arm flopped across his eyes. Matt reaches out to smooth some of his blond hair back behind his ear. His fingers brush his scar, and Mello lifts his arm and cracks his eye open.

"How long were you in there for?"

"Nine years?" Mello doesn't sound sure, and Matt leans forward to kiss at the exposed patch of skin peeking out past his shirt collar, "Maybe ten. Does it matter?

There's some small part of him that wants to press deeper, ask more, but Matt just settles his head on Mello's chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart.

"No. Not anymore."

 


End file.
